


Lanterns Lit

by orphan_account



Category: Dishonored (Video Games)
Genre: Empress Emily, Eventual Fluff, Fluff and Angst, I'm Bad At Tagging, Low Chaos Corvo, M/M, Mission Fic, POV Female Character, POV Male Character, Pining, Plot Twists, Plotty, Post-Low Chaos Ending, Slow Burn, Ugh, desperate outsider, emily as empress, emily is so done, emily's growth, extremely low chaos corvo
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-10-02
Updated: 2017-01-02
Packaged: 2018-08-19 04:41:16
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 5
Words: 22,750
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8190436
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: "Memory rushes in and washes away/I am losing you to the sea."


  
    Due to circumstances beyond his control, The Outsider's humanity is being eroded away. Desperate to remain himself, he reaches out to the one man who can help him: Corvo. Meanwhile, Emily's grip on the throne is in jeopardy, but Corvo, too, is being affected by the Void - just when she needs him the most.





	1. Prologue

**Author's Note:**

> bear with me guys, hopefully this will make sense at some point!

The boy hesitated, bending his knees and clasping his hands together in front of him. 

The barnacles on the rock underfoot chafed as he curled his toes in for a tighter grip. The air in his throat was thick with fear and with the stench of dead and rotting fish, but he gulped it in all the same.

“Come on!” urged the girl beside him in their thick, snarling tongue. “Your da will murder you if you don’t hurry.”

“Think I don’t know that?!” the boy snapped, his insides writhing. “Where’s the weight?”

The girl turned on her heel and left him alone, shivering and gulping air on the rock like a fledgling gull. He stared down at the sunlight on the shifting blue water below and bit his tongue to keep the awful pit in his stomach from rising any higher.

 

Then she was back, a boulder in her hands and a grubby cloth draped over sinewy arms tight with strain. She handed him the heavy stone and began to twist the frayed cloth nervously.  
“Good luck”, she said, and though he stared at the sea he could feel her eyes on him.

The boy shouldered his leather bag, stiff with brine, and filled his lungs one last time. Then, shoulders sore with the weight, he stepped off the edge of the gritty grey rock. A heartbeat’s rushing wind - a glance at the horizon - and then the glittering sea reached up to meet him. 

_Whoom! _White bubbles obscured his sight and his chest ached with the sudden cold and the impact, but he was used to that. The rock pulled him deeper and he stretched himself out to follow it down, headfirst into the depths.__

__It became colder as he swam down, cold enough to numb his limbs should he stop moving. A stream of bubbles came from his hair, his nose, the rock in his hands and drifted to the surface, which was already being swallowed by the darkness as he travelled deeper._ _

__

__Pressure was mounting now, making his head feel as though it would burst. Trying to bear the pain, he focused on what he could see: the fish, the sunlight, the the ghostly fronds of seaweed billowing gently in the current like an underwater forest. The upper air - the girl, his father, the village - felt so distant now. Dimly, he began to wonder why he had been afraid.  
Then the rock hit the sand with a soft thump, and his work began._ _

__

__The boy let go of his weight and kicked out, swimming close to the sea bed.  
The floor of the rocky bay was a dangerous place - mirror-fish with their venomous spines, sea-urchins, colonies of rainbow-coloured jellyfish, the great vicious sharks with razor teeth and many dull black eyes. He reached for the knife tied to his hip, unsheathed it and gripped it as hard as he could with his cold hand, imagining all sorts of deep-sea horrors._ _

__

__The pressure-pain in his head and eyes was mounting to agony when he spotted them: a nest of oysters. Unlike the fierce bulb-shaped krusts that guarded the river-banks in the jungle, oysters were passive in yielding their pearls.  
The boy swam closer, reached out for the moon-shaped oysters and began to hack at the roots that clung to the reef. A sawing motion worked best: back and forth until the first oyster came free. Reaching back, he put it in his leather knapsack and started on the next one._ _

__

__He was becoming short of breath now, his time was almost up. The pain in his head and lack of air was making him light-headed, but he kept going. What the girl said was true: his father would kill him if he didn’t hurry up, didn’t get enough oysters._ _

__

__With each oyster he put in his bag his breath grew shorter, and his lungs started screaming on his eighth. Two more, he told himself. Just two more.  
His chest and head in seizures of agony, his sight growing dim, he sawed away at the oyster’s root, remembering what it felt like to breathe. His arms were as limp as the seaweed surrounding him, but he kept going. Finally the ninth oyster broke off and he shoved it behind him into his bag, the water making his limbs heavy, so heavy._ _

__

__He started on the tenth oyster, the blinding pain in his head banishing any thought. There was nothing now but a dark tunnel of hacking and stabbing clumsily at the oyster, the knife flashing in the dull light against the crusted oyster. After what felt like an eternity it came free and the boy let out a mouthful of air in relief._ _

__Gripping it in his hands, he started towards the surface, urgently propelling himself as fast as he could to the shimmering light far above._ _

__

__Then he stopped. Despite the pain in his chest and skull and darkening sight and the taste of blood in his mouth, he stopped and treaded water. There was a presence in the water, a sense of foreboding that froze him with fear. A silver shoal of fish darted past him, and maybe it was the airlessness addling his brain but he swore he could feel their terror, hear their thoughts whispering in his mind.  
Swim, human, they whispered. It comes._ _

__

__Regaining his senses, the boy swam upwards, propelled by a primal need to flee. Panic began to choke him as he felt a tremor in the water. The water felt too thick, his arms were too heavy, he was swimming too slowly, the pain was too bad. He would never make it._ _

__The water around him shook again, resonating with the thrumming ache in his chest as though the sea itself was inside him. It grew warm, but not because he was getting closer to the surface._ _

__

__The monstrous presence grew closer, the vibrations almost violent, and with a growing feeling of awe and dread the boy turned._ _

__A black eye stared at him out of the darkness._ _

__Ageless, ink-black and void of feeling, the eye of the ancient one and the boy took each other in. The eyeball of the creature was larger in diameter than the boy’s body, and he could see reflected in it the depths of the ocean and his own frightened face.The sea was almost boiling with the heat the monster generated in its blood, its flesh, its insides. He glimpsed a fanglike tooth bedded in blood-red gums that were coated in algae, barnacles and gore. The leviathan’s flesh was the grey of a stormy sea, dotted with white flecks like stars and dark patches like the shadows of clouds. Tentacles clustered around the savage mouth, undulating and stroking the water with a life of their own. The rest of the gigantic whale faded into darkness, simply too huge for his eye to follow._ _

__It was alien, utterly alien. As vast, ancient and pitiless as the sea itself._ _

__The boy knew as soon as he gazed into the beast’s eye he was dead, with a certainty that came from the place beyond human reasoning. His mind, overcome with the lack of air and the fear and pain, faltered, stuttered.  
Then a strange thing happened: the boy felt a tug in his gut like the nausea of seasickness. The flash of stabbing pain was impossible to ignore and he doubled over, hugging his stomach._ _

__

__Suddenly, and with a jolt he was watching himself, small in the endless water, a frail skinny thing that could shatter to the touch. He felt no pain anymore, and this relief felt as natural as breathing. His veins were full of fire, and the seawater was pleasantly cool against his burning skin. The pain and fear was a memory now, lost in a mind that was like the depths of a yawning abyss. All the aeons of the world were stretched out behind him, and magic flickered in his very cells._ _

__

__He was still watching the human boy, who seemed somehow familiar to the whale now. It was floating lifelessly in the water, no longer in pain. A memory flashed and flicked away like a small silver fish, and the whale prepared to move on, because the seasons were changing and the pod was leaving, and whatever had drawn him to the boy was forgotten.  
The whale shuddered and turned, slow, huge, and began to swim away._ _

__And in an instant the boy was back in his own body, racked with pain and unable to comprehend what had just happened. He gulped in water and choked as liquid filled his lungs, his mouth and nose. Spasms of agony washed over him and he couldn’t see, didn’t know which way was up.  
Desperately, he began to swim what he hoped was upwards, towards the light. His limbs barely obeyed him and he was on the brink of unconsciousness. If he stopped, he would drown, and everyone knew that if you drowned your souls were lost forever, wandering in the Void._ _

__

__For an eternity he floundered blindly in the thick seawater, gagging and suffocating, his tears and blood mixing with the ocean. Death seemed a kinder alternative to enduring his agony any longer._ _

__

__Finally his arms stopped pulling at the current, his legs kicked slower and slower, too exhausted to continue. He was dying, he could feel his souls slipping away like water in his cupped palm. He thought of the girl and of his mother, and of the whale who had spared him. He hoped being lost in the Void would be peaceful, at least._ _

__

__The boy’s unseeing eyes closed, having grown dim with blood and the slow torture of dying._ _

__

__And then his head broke the surface._ _


	2. Chapter One

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> uhh... a painting lesson and some rioting

Lord Protector Corvo Attano sat stock still, gazing at the wall with no small amount of boredom in his expression. He had been sitting in the same position for a long time now, and his neck was beginning to ache. 

Initially he had been glad of a chance to sit down and rest for a while, but he was starting to bitterly regret that decision. He hated sitting still. Heaving a sigh through his nose, Corvo kept his eyes on the gold-leaf detailing that decorated the far wall of the drawing room and let his mind wander.

As usual, his thoughts strayed to… Well, to Jessamine. Her death still hit him afresh every day as it had for years. Missing her was like an old wound. To Corvo, Jessamine died again and again every time he thought of her - every time he saw something that she would have liked, or whenever Emily did something he wished he could tell her about. It was hard, almost unbearably hard, even after all this time. 

But Corvo was used to grief, and he knew that the pain would never get better; you just learned how to shoulder it and keep going. And that was what he had done, back in those awful days: kept going, despite losing everything in the space of six months… twice. First when Daud had killed Jessamine as casually as if she were a deer and he a hunter, and second when he realized what the bitter taste of the Loyalist whiskey really meant. Poison and betrayal.  
The Outsider’s words echoed in his head like ripples on water - _“Strange how there’s always a little more innocence left to lose... _” Funny, how many times the Outsider's cryptic speeches had unexpectedly made a little too much sense.__

 

“Corvo!” said Emily crossly. “Stop looking so melancholy. You’re a model, not an undertaker!”  
Jolted from his thoughts, Corvo tried to arrange his face to look less tragic and more imposing. However much he tried to keep his expression blank at all times, his thoughts and feelings always showed in his face. It was annoying, especially when Emily was holding court. Showing your true feelings in the cut-throat world of Dunwall politics was dangerous, and Corvo was always at risk of offending some pompous noble.

“Better, Corvo”, rasped Sokolov. “Now, Lady Emily, make sure you capture the curve of the Lord Protector’s brow… See how it is in sharp profile against the window?”

Being the model for Emily’s painting lessons with Sokolov was uncomfortable for Corvo, to say the least. He would sit and model for Emily forever if she needed him to, but he definitely disliked Sokolov’s strong and often unpleasant presence, especially when his tutelage became too harsh. Sometimes he wanted to snap at the grouchy old artist on Emily’s behalf, but that was her battle to fight, and fight them she did. Plainly said, Emily took no shit from Anton Sokolov, as little as she did anyone else.

Feeling the familiar flush of pride, Corvo sat a little straighter.

 

Emily’s lessons with Sokolov always took place in the drawing room, due to its ideal south-facing aspect - Sokolov took great care to always have the best lighting for any pieces created or lessons given. Corvo had always liked the drawing room, with its lush wine-coloured carpet and ornate chandelier. It was where Corvo and Emily retired to in the evenings when the demands of state grew too much for the young Empress, and where Corvo would entertain his old friends Samuel, Piero, Cecelia and Callista when he could.

Now, however, instead of decanters of Tyvian wine there were whale-oil paints on the table, and he wouldn’t exactly call Sokolov an old friend. More like someone he interacted with only when necessary. They had helped each other out back in the Loyalist days, but Sokolov’s personality still put a bitter taste in his mouth, much like the King Street brandy the ageing inventor loved so much.

“Ensure that the consistency here is not too thick, Lady Emily”, said Sokolov, pointing at the mistake. Emily’s eyes flicked up to Corvo’s over the top of her canvas with a wry expression and she rolled her eyes almost imperceptibly before adopting the manner of a conscientious student again, pretending to be concerned about the tiny error.  
Sokolov was oblivious, absorbed in mixing some white spirits. Corvo was glad that he was often privy to Emily’s sarcastic side, when she appeared serious and dutiful to almost everyone else.

She was almost sixteen now, and becoming more like Jessamine every day. She had grown her dark hair long until it reached just past her shoulders and had taken to wearing it up like Jessamine had. Still, she had Corvo’s dark eyes and strong nose and chin, even if the rest of her was all her mother.  
It was the sixth year of her reign, and Dunwall had flourished compared to the days of the Rat Plague. She had almost eradicated the sickness, controlled the population of carnivorous rats, slowed the rate of emigration and - with Corvo’s help - weeded out the most treacherous nobles and dangerous gangs. Daud had not been heard of since his flight from the city and Havelock was rotting in Coldridge.  
The city had its problems, and it would be a long time until normalcy was completely restored, but Emily and Corvo had not yet put a foot wrong in helping it and the Empire survive.

Life was, surprisingly, good. Corvo, who still caught himself peering into keyholes before entering a room, was sure that every happy day would be the last. He knew all too well how things fall apart.

“Finished!” Emily announced, setting down her paintbrush. These painting lessons were a rare break from politics and responsibility, and Corvo was sad for her that the lesson was almost over. Emily had always loved to paint and draw.  
He got up from his stool and stretched, cracking his neck and rolling his stiff shoulders.

“Well done, Lady Emily”, said Sokolov, scrutinising the painting and stroking his beard with a large hand. Emily flushed with pleasure - the Royal Physician almost never gave praise. Corvo stepped over to take a look - yes, she was talented.

The portrait of Corvo showed him seated with his back to the window, gaze trained on a point in the distance and hands clasped in his lap. It perfectly captured his rugged profile and brooding expression, and Emily had even added the touch of grey at his temples that had appeared in recent months. Emily’s personal style was different from Sokolov’s trademark clear realism and cold light contrasting with bold colours. She tended to fill her art with a swaying sense of movement, as though a soft warm wind blew through her paintings. The effect was lovely, and Corvo was sure Sokolov was proud of his gifted student.

“What shall you call it?” asked Sokolov. “I think something like... ‘The Cevian Tessellation of the Lord Protector-"  
Emily raised her hand, silencing him with a laugh. “I think just ‘Corvo Attano’ will do”, she said, not unkindly. “Thank you for the lesson, Mr. Sokolov. I hope you will teach me again soon. I will have Arianna escort you out, and payment will be delivered to your residence at the earliest opportunity.”  
Corvo wished he had her eloquence sometimes - she often spoke as if she had just swallowed a dictionary.

Sokolov left with the maid and Emily’s respectful countenance vanished like smoke as soon as the door clicked shut.  
“That stinking choffer!” she exclaimed, falling backwards onto the embroidered ottoman. “I swear to the Outsider if he corrects my consistency one more time I’ll exile the old goat. Have you noticed how he always smells of brandy and Serkonan tobacco? He’s given me a fear of breathing in around him.”

“Emily!” reproached Corvo, unable to hide his amusement.

“It’s true!” she said fervently, sitting up. “At this rate I’ll have to steal a gas mask from the Whalers.”

“That can be arranged,” he replied mock-threateningly, and Emily laughed.

“Did you know that Sokolov went to Pandyssia once?” she asked, her dark eyes wide. “I heard he returned alone, half-insane and obsessed with the Outsider.”

“Yes, I did know that”, Corvo replied, seeing the inside of Sokolov’s house on Kaldwin Bridge in his mind’s eye. “Who told you?”

“Colleen found an account in the library when she was dusting the shelves.”  
Colleen was Emily’s maidservant, a well-fleshed Morley girl who was known among the servants for gossiping and spreading rumours. Emily made it her business to be informed of any new developments or news among the staff, and was always chatting and laughing with her maids. “She said it was a diary, and some pages were splattered with _blood _… No wonder the man’s such a grouch.”__

__Sighing, Emily slid her slim legs off the ottoman and got up, taking off the apron she painted in.  
“Will you help me with my knife defense tomorrow morning?” she asked. “I can dodge, but I’m bad at counterattacking.”_ _

__“Of course”, Corvo answered. “How’s the crossbow coming along?”  
Emily frowned and opened her mouth to reply, but was interrupted by a loud rap on the door._ _

“Excuse me, Your Grace”, came the muffled voice of a guard. “I’m afraid there is a matter that urgently needs your attention.”  
Puzzled, Emily put down her apron and went to open the door.  
“Yes?” she said, her official mask back in place. “What is it, Branwell? 

__Branwell looked uncomfortable. “Bad news, milady. It seems that them Dartins are at it again.”_ _

__There was a brief silence while the news sank in._ _

__“What now?” Emily demanded, her face pale and grim._ _

__“There was a riot - sorry - disturbance in Caulkenny, milady, and word is the Dartins caused it.The Royal Spymistress offers her assistance in the matter and suggests that you consult her as soon as possible..”_ _

__Emily thanked the guard and smoothed down her black waistcoat, displaying none of the girlish levity Corvo had seen just a moment ago.  
“Come along, Lord Protector” said Emily as she stepped out of the drawing room into the corridor, striding fast. “This problem must be dealt with at once and I require your advice.”_ _

__Corvo unconsciously flexed his Marked hand and followed her closely, worry creasing his forehead. The Royal Morley Anti-Imperial Liberation Brotherhood - or ‘Dartins’ as they were better known - were a rebel organisation based somewhere in Morley, dedicated to loosening Empire control over the island. They had played a pivotal role in the war decades ago, and had flared up again when the Rat Plague weakened the Empire._ _

__Like most, Corvo had never seen them as much of a threat - he’d thought they were just a bunch of old patriots that used to cause pathetic scuffles in northern farming towns “in the name of freedom”. Now that was beginning to change: this seemed to be the second noteworthy incident in as many weeks attributed to them._ _

__If this continued, they would have to be put down effectively, as the first real threat to Emily’s throne since her ascension._ _

__

__Corvo was lost in thought again, and it took him a moment to realize they had reached the secure chamber where she and Fowler discussed matters of state. Emily glanced at him, smiled, and entered. Just as he moved to follow her, Corvo’s Marked hand pulsed painfully, sending a strange prickling sensation shooting up his arm. Frowning, Corvo looked down at his hand and flexed his fingers. _Strange _, he thought. _It hasn’t done that before _. He flicked his sore hand as though shooing the thought away, then squared his shoulders and entered the meeting chamber._____ _

______ _ _ _ _

______Royal Spymistress Johanna Fowler was a plain woman with thick black hair pulled back in a severe bun that exposed her ears. She had a Tyvian look about her in the shape of her eyes and curve of her nose, but her dark skin showed southern ancestry. She always wore the red coat of her office and unfortunately it was not a colour that suited her. She usually looked unassuming, submissive. Forgettable, even. A contrast with the charismatic and sharp-featured Emily, but despite her prim, lacklustre appearance Fowler’s strong will and impressive intellect showed in the clarity and expression of her dark eyes. You thought she was weak-willed, a pushover, until she looked you full in the face._ _ _ _ _ _

______Corvo had taken great pains to appoint a Spymaster he could trust after what happened with Hiram Burrows, and throughout the four years Johanna had been in service he had come to respect and rely on her implicitly. She was discerning, which he liked, and gave good counsel in regards to rebuilding Dunwall. She had a very effective web of informants (just as Emily did in her own fashion, Corvo reflected) and reported back to the Empress often._ _ _ _ _ _

______ _ _ _ _

______"Greetings, Your Grace", said Johanna in her usual clipped tones. "As you may have heard, there is a particular issue I'd like to inform-"_ _ _ _ _ _

______"Yes, the Dartins", said Emily. "Tell me more about what happened."_ _ _ _ _ _

______The furrows between Fowler's eyebrows deepened. "It seems the Dartin group attacked a number of Imperial soldiers on patrol in the early hours of this morning. The attackers escaped to the town of Caulkenny, where they appear to have incited a riot in the streets among the citizens. The windows of the local governor were broken, two shops were looted and several officials injured. Five fatalities and six casualties among our men, and none from the rioters. Many of the Imperial firearms were also stolen, along with food and other supplies. Locals deny knowledge of any information pertaining to the rebels, but there are suspicions that many Caulkenny residents fully support the insurgents."_ _ _ _ _ _

______Emily nodded, looking troubled, and gestured for Fowler to continue._ _ _ _ _ _

______"This is the largest incident attributed to the Dartins in years, but by no means is it the first. There have been raids, guerilla attacks on Empire supply wagons, anti-Empire graffiti, clandestine meetings... It seems rebellion in Morley has not been entirely stamped out, and the recent famine did not help matters. The people are poor, hungry and eager to rally around a cause. It is imperative that we take swift action to smoke out the Dartin group and cease any murmurs of rebellion. The last thing we need is another war, especially with the Empire in a weakened state. I suggest you consult the Council - some noble families lost people in the war and will appreciate your consideration of their opinion."_ _ _ _ _ _

______"Thank you, Johanna", said Emily. "I will think on the matter tonight, and summon the Council in the morning. I intend to deal with this affair quickly and quietly, and will require your further assistance very soon. For now, try to find out from any contacts in Morley more about the Dartins' current leadership... and also, perhaps, the approximate level of support among citizens. It is getting late and I wish to think about it alone for a while."_ _ _ _ _ _

_________"As you wish, Your Grace", replied Fowler, inclining her head respectfully. "I will reach out to my spies as soon as possible."  
For a moment, her polite facade faded, and she leaned towards the Empress.  
"I want to reiterate, my lady, that civil unrest in Morley could spell doom for the Empire. It has never been more important that you keep a calm head and stay in control."_ _ _

______Emily could only grit her teeth and nod, and from his position by the door Corvo felt a shiver of nameless dread and foreboding, though he could not have said why._ _ _ _ _ _

______ _ _ _ _

______*_ _ _ _ _ _

______Later, Corvo was just unbuckling his boots alone in his chambers when his Mark pulsed again._ _ _ _ _ _

______The same strange prickling feeling washed over his left arm and Corvo straightened, intrigued. It had never done that before. He sat on the bed and began to unwrap the silk bandage he covered the back of his hand with._ _ _ _ _ _

______As the material slipped off, Corvo's stomach twisted._ _ _ _ _ _

______The smooth curved lines of his Mark were unchanged, but the colour of it had gone from black to the pale sky blue of the Void. It glowed slightly, even though Corvo was not using any of his powers. As he watched, a small fracture-like crack spread out from the centre circle, as though drawn by an invisible hand.  
Unnerved, Corvo turned his hand over and back, baffled as to why it was glowing and changing. The new imperfection, small as it was, made the Mark appear to be expanding. He held his other hand out, and noticed that next to it, the left one was trembling slightly._ _ _ _ _ _

______ _ _ _ _

______He hadn't used the Outsider's Mark in years - he hadn't needed to. In the first days of Emily's rule he would catch himself watching the servants and officials of Dunwall Tower through the walls, or Blinking from one end of a corridor to the other, but that impulse had faded. Now, although he trained his sword hand daily with the City Watch, the supernatural symbol on his left hand remained dormant._ _ _ _ _ _

______Until now._ _ _ _ _ _

______It occurred to Corvo that the Mark was acting up because of disuse, and to test this he decided to Blink from the bed to the window. He curled his fingers into the familiar position and energy built up in his hand, accompanied by the high whining noise that he associated with Blinking. He released the charge and felt the wind rushing through and past him, whispering a word in a language just beyond his understanding._ _ _ _ _ _

______He stumbled when he landed, unaccustomed to the old whooshing feeling, but nothing else happened. The Mark didn’t fade back to the usual ink-black._ _ _ _ _ _

______Disappointed, Corvo walked back over to his bed, quickly changed into his nightclothes and slid between the covers. He was tired from attending court, modelling for Emily’s lesson and worrying about the damned Dartins, and his eyes were heavy. The whole thing about the Mark’s transformation bothered him too. Perhaps, and he did not like the thought, something was wrong with the Void or the Outsider._ _ _ _ _ _

______The Outsider. He had not visited Corvo in a long time, not since the old days. For the most part he had avoided thinking of the strange, ageless deity.  
Except that from time to time his mind would wander back to the smallest details - the glittering lights that spiralled up among that black smoke that surrounded him, or the way he tilted his head to the side. Corvo thought he heard his voice sometimes, saw his shadowy figure in half-remembered dreams, but he always woke up with nothing but fleeting memories and the taste of sea salt in his mouth. _ _ _ _ _ _

______Unbeknownst to the Lord Protector, that was about to change._ _ _ _ _ _

______Corvo Attano drifted off to sleep... and awoke some time later bathed in the soft blue glow of the Void._ _ _ _ _ _

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> thanks for reading! I'll update a new chapter every weekend probably :) this fic was 1000% inspired by the song lanterns lit by son lux, check it out if you want!


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> a visit from a certain asshole

Emily sat on the roof outside the window of her chamber and stared out over Dunwall.

It was reckless, she knew, to go clambering around on the rooftops of Dunwall Tower after sunset, but she could think as clearly nowhere else. Corvo could reprimand her all he liked, but this was her favourite spot to sit and think when she had a moment. The lights of the city glittered below her, and the first stars were showing between the clouds. Strains of music and distant laughter floated up to her on the chill breeze. 

Emily shivered suddenly, and pulled her coat tighter around her. It was the Month of Rain, and a cold northern wind from Tyvia was making the edges of street puddles crunch underfoot with frost. She must have the City Watch distribute whale oil and blankets, she reminded herself. The Tower may have been warm, but the same could not have been said for all Dunwall, and a harsh winter was coming. 

Chewing her lip, Emily’s thoughts turned to the Morley rebels. The idea of organised anti-Empire sentiment in Morley scared her more than she’d like to admit. She supposed it was to be expected, that the embers of the brutal war would still be burning, and she knew she had to deal with the problem carefully.

However much she reassured herself that the insurgence would be dealt with, her stomach still writhed. Emily clambered back through her bedroom window and decided to consult her most trusted advisor - her father.

Of course, the fact that Corvo was her father was not officially true, but Emily had always known. She had assumed even before she could even say his name, and the idea that things were more complicated than that had seemed absurd.

She took her coat off and pulled a warm robe over her shoulders, tying it at the waist as she left her room, nodding to the guards. She had grown tall in the past few years, and now stood at Corvo’s chin. He would often notice and say something like, “On stilts again, Emily?” and ruffle her hair.  
Padding down the hallway in her stockinged feet, Emily smiled at the memory. Corvo always made her feel better, even if his reassurance was silent - he was still the most laconic person she knew. He only spoke when he had something important to say, which many of the nobility found discomfiting. The Boyles, in particular. Esma Boyle now had a young son... _Pity the boy only has one aunt where once he might have had two, _she thought darkly, hugging herself.__

__Emily arrived at his door and knocked quietly. ‘Corvo?’_ _

__The was no reply.  
She knocked again, more insistently.  
Still nothing. 

__She turned the handle slowly and peered inside - Corvo was rarely asleep so early._ _

__It was dark in his room, but a strange blue light was giving the furniture an eerie glow. Baffled, Emily inched the door wider and slid inside._ _

__Corvo lay asleep, deathly still on the bed, hands clenching the sheets with the blankets lying in a heap on the floor. What surprised Emily was his left hand - the bandage that always covered it was off, and a strange symbol on the back of it was glowing, almost too bright to look at._ _

__She had seen it before, years ago, and she suspected it was something heretic but had never asked. If Corvo had wanted her to know he would have told her. He hadn’t, so she had respected his wishes and let him keep his secrets. This was unexpected, though - it was burning with a ferocity that looked to Emily like it must hurt._ _

__That was when she heard it - the mark was giving off a high, almost inaudible whining sound. Corvo muttered something and suddenly thrashed his head back and forth, making her jump._ _

__Frightened, Emily put a hand on his shoulder and shook him, gently at first. “Corvo? Corvo, wake up!”  
Despite all her efforts, Corvo stayed terrifyingly unconscious. Emily felt tears of frustration spring up in her eyes and blinked them back furiously.  
“Is something wrong, milady?” called a guard from the hallway.  
“No, nothing!” she snapped, worried he would come in and see the glowing heretic mark. 

__She shook Corvo and called his name again, but Corvo’s eyes had rolled up in his head and he couldn’t seem to hear her. It was as though he were somewhere she couldn’t reach._ _

__

__*_ _

__Corvo was always struck by the beauty of the Void.  
It was a reflection of the real world, except everything was crumbling away into mid-air, suspended in a slow spin, and illuminated with violet light from a sun below. It was almost like being underwater, but the air was clearer than normal and reverberated with whalesong._ _

__He was standing in his chambers in Dunwall Tower, but the opposite wall was missing and flowering vines choked the remaining brick. Corvo walked to the edge and looked out - yes, the balcony had broken off and floated away, a good distance to Blink to.  
Clearly, the Outsider wanted Corvo to find him._ _

__Sighing through his nose, Corvo Blinked to the balcony, then onto a nearby floating staircase. Looking back at Dunwall tower, it was surrounded by the usual floating debris, but had one of the old pre-Industrial Age sailing galleons, with three masts and white sails, embedded in the top as though it had run aground there. In the distance a whale hung in the air, keening mournfully.  
Only when a floating purple lantern hit him in the head did Corvo turn back and continue his journey up the staircase and across bits of street with pipes still attached._ _

__The next place to Blink to, however, was the gazebo, and Corvo’s throat blocked up as he crossed the place where Jessamine died. The Outsider had thoughtfully left a brown bloodstain on the gazebo floor, and Corvo felt a sudden urge to give him… well, a black eye. Not that he had a shortage._ _

__Corvo made it onto what appeared to be the rooftop of the water-lock building and rested for a moment, his left hand aching from Blinking too much. He took a step forward and time froze._ _

__Darkness filled his vision like an inkdrop in water and the Outsider materialized, shedding black smoke and gold sparks as a fire would. Unexpectedly, he looked slightly dishevelled, and Corvo thought he could sense desperation in his whiteless eyes._ _

“Corvo”, said the Outsider without preamble. “I need your help.” 

__Corvo was floored. The Outsider needed him?  
Emotions warred inside him - anger, confusion, doubt, even a little bit of happiness, but mostly curiosity. Intrigued, he waited for the Outsider to continue._ _

__The Outsider, almost hesitantly, said, “I need you”- Corvo flushed a bit at the words, “-to find an artifact. Very, very old, and extremely valuable. I know for certain that it is somewhere in Dunwall, Gristol at least…” The Outsider trailed off, looking for all the world as though he were… afraid.  
But that couldn’t be - nothing could frighten the Outsider. He was a god._ _

__“What is it?” asked Corvo cautiously._ _

__“It’s a knife”, said the Outsider. “Some call it the Mortal Knife. It is said to have strange and subtle powers, and is - or was - the family heirloom of the Pendletons. When Slackjaw did away with the twins and Treavor was killed, it passed to a Pendleton cousin, who sold it into uncertain ownership yesterday. I need you to locate and recover it.”_ _

__“Why?” demanded Corvo. “Why would you need a knife?”_ _

__“That is not your concern. What matters is that if you do not find the Knife within thirteen days, that Mark on your hand may kill you. Or it may not. Haven’t you noticed it acting strangely recently?”_ _

__“Yes, it kept throbbing today”, answered Corvo. “But I don’t understand - I’ll die if I don’t find the Knife?”_ _

__“Yes. Most likely. Or you will be left with no memory, or your mind will be trapped in the Void. That Mark will spread up your arm, and your time will have run out when it reaches your heart.”_ _

__Corvo took a deep, shuddering breath. “Tell me why my life is linked to this… this Mortal Knife. I’ve never even heard of it before.”_ _

__The Outsider leaned in and spread his arms wide. “Find it and I’ll explain everything.”  
“But--”  
“Remember, Corvo, thirteen days. The clock is ticking....” 

__

__The Outsider smiled that haunting smile of his and vanished. The Void crumbled around him and Corvo woke suddenly, sitting bolt upright._ _

__“Corvo?” said Emily, startled. “Thank the Outsider, you’re awake. You wouldn’t wake up for so long, I was so worried - the guard nearly came in and I had to send him away…”_ _

__She kept talking, filling the room with words of relief._ _

__But Corvo, breathing heavily, could only stare numbly at his left hand. The blue fracture lines had already reached his wrist._ _

__

__*_ _

__

__It took the best part of an hour for Corvo to gather his thoughts and even longer for him to form some sort of plan, but by noon he was out on the streets._ _

__He had instructed the City Watch to guard the Empress well while she was with her council. Hinting to them that he was on private official business had not been difficult - climbing out his window unseen was harder._ _

__He took his old route across the rooftops then paused at the edge of the tiles, looking down into the city. It was a bright day, cold, full of the sound of pigeon’s wings as they flocked amid the houses. Corvo raised his hand ready to Blink down, then hesitated a moment, looking at the Mark._ _

__He had not left Emily with any sort of explanation for last night’s events, and the idea filled him with guilt. And regret, too - he should have told her the truth about his Mark sooner. For years he had thought he could hide his inhuman side from her, protect her from the fact that he was - in the eyes of the Overseers - a blatant heretic._ _

__Emily wasn’t stupid, she must have guessed that there was something he wasn’t telling her, something that helped him bring her to the throne. Corvo had just hoped she might forget. It had been six years... six years in which he had never given her reason to suspect anything was abnormal. Still, he had been an idiot to think the Mark would leave him alone, and with that in mind Corvo resolved to tell Emily everything._ _

__Another reason for his hesitation was that he wore Piero’s mask. It was the only way to hide his identity as the Lord Protector, but the mask in itself was notorious. It might set people to panicking if they knew the Masked Felon was prowling the streets again. As far as he knew, nobody had connected the clues: the Masked Felon had appeared when Corvo Attano escaped Coldridge, and had vanished when Corvo Attano restored Emily to the throne. It seemed glaringly obvious when he thought about it, but he supposed his position of power would blind people to the truth._ _

__

__Feeling as though he was about to step off a precipice (and not only because of his position on the roof), Corvo Blinked away._ _

__

__Meanwhile, several feet of concrete and stone below, Emily sat with her small council._ _

__“Yesterday’s raid was a step too far”, she said, trying to put authority in every syllable. “I wish to show these rebels that any anti-Empire acts of terrorism will not be tolerated.”_ _

__“Very good, your Majesty”, said Lord Estermont, stroking his beard. “I agree. It is too soon after the Morley Insurgence for us to ignore a show of bravado from nationalists. Make an example of the fools.”_ _

__“But what if that triggers outrage among the people?” asked Lydia Boyle. She was a newer addition to the council, having left her old habits behind._ _

__There was an uneasy murmur among the councillors, who consisted of a mix of nobles and advisers: Lydia Boyle, the Estate District representative; Lord Estermont, the treasurer; the elderly Lord Pendleton, Johanna Fowler, the Royal Spymistress; Aloysius Trom, the Ambassador to Morley, and Doctor Kalliovsky, the Adviser General.  
There was a large council too, that included the High Overseer, ambassadors to Tyvia and Serkonos, more nobles and more advisers and the Captain of the City Watch, Captain Curnow. _ _

__Emily had thought it best to leave them looking after the price of whale oil and other such trivial things._ _

__Corvo, too, had a seat on the small council, but clearly he had not seen fit to attend today. Emily felt a small hard knot of disappointment form in her chest. She pushed it aside._ _

__“That is true”, replied Emily. “But I’d rather them outraged, yet fearful of us, then unchecked and rebellious.”_ _

__“Fearful?” asked Trom in his soft voice. “Surely a ruler such as yourself ought to be loved, not feared.”_ _

__Emily eyed him coldly. “If the Dartins felt any love for me they would not rebel. I would have them fear me if they cannot love me, because otherwise there will never be peace.”_ _

__Trom fell silent. He was a pathetic little man, with a flabby pale face hidden behind round glasses. White gloves hid his stubby hands, the palms damp with sweat. He wore a forest-green velvet suit with a lacy ascot concealing his chins. Emily thought him useless, but she could not dismiss him and offend the King of Morley, who had sent him personally._ _

__“So”, Emily said to the council at large. “All in favour of launching a full Imperial investigation into the rebel group known as the ‘Dartins’, say aye.”_ _

__She had to admit, the resounding chorus of ‘ayes’ was extremely satisfying._ _

__

__The meeting adjourned, and Emily was due to meet Captain Curnow, General Russell and her other military strategists in the war room. She always met her generals in the war room when handling anything that the Imperial Army would have to deal with. Usually small matters - stopping slavers from Pandyssia, paving the Empire’s roads, generally keeping the peace._ _

__Corvo always met them with her, but he was still out._ _

__Emily’s route to the war room took her past the stairs to his chambers, and on a sudden whim she hurried up to the door, checking left and right for any servants or guards. She approached the door and knocked softly, not expecting an answer._ _

__Cautiously she pushed the door open and slipped inside. She knew Corvo better than he knew himself, and barely had to ask herself where he would keep his secret things before the answer came to her. She got to her knees and checked for any loose floorboards._ _

__She found it under Corvo’s bed - his hiding-place, where he would hide his mask. Emily remembered seeing it on him: once when he stole into her room at the Golden Cat, looking for all the world like Death walking, and again at the Lighthouse. Piero had done a good job, he was a formidable sight in the skull mask. It had given her nightmares back then, the facade of terror that covered her father’s face when he went out into the city to destroy his enemies._ _

__Emily bit her lip and pried at the floorboard with her fingernails. She needed to prise it out with a knife, but she had left hers on her bedside table. Her fingertips were raw and one nail was bloody by the time she pulled the wooden board free. Sucking the sore finger, Emily stared down into the dark space below the floor._ _

__No mask, just as she had expected. Corvo was out wearing it, and she sensed it had something to do with how the symbol on his hand had glowed last night._ _

__For some reason, after six years, Corvo had become the Masked Felon again._ _

__However, despite the mask’s absence, the gap under the floorboard wasn’t empty. Something lay down there, shrouded in the darkness. It was about the size of her clenched fist._ _

__

__Emily reached down into the hole and pulled out her mother’s mechanical heart._ _

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> thanks for reading! please drop me a comment :) i'll have chapter 3 by next weekend probably


	4. corvo steals a tartlet

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> uhh... we meet blind bill, and an asshole gets what he deserves. *Rape trigger warning*

Corvo’s search began in the Hound Pits, and with good reason.

The Outsider had said that this Mortal Knife had been in the possession of a Pendleton cousin since Treavor’s death, but he had not deigned to say who exactly. Corvo, through his position, knew the Pendleton family tree well - everyone in the Tower did - and to say it was a sprawling one would be an understatement. There were cousins, second cousins, third cousins, bastard children, the children of bastard children, at least five second cousins twice removed… Finding a ‘Pendleton cousin’ was like trying to find a plague rat in a swarm. 

All he knew was that it was likely to be a favourite of Lord Pendleton, because the lord had given the knife to the mystery cousin when all his nephews died. Not one member remained of the original Pendleton family, to which Morgan, Custis and Treavor had been born; their father had died while Corvo was in Coldridge. His title and manor had then passed to his brother, Nathaniel Pendleton, who now sat the Imperial Council.

With such a ridiculously convoluted genealogy, Corvo decided his best starting place would be with someone who knew the city like the back of his hand, and had seen the birth and death of many Pendletons.

Finding Samuel wasn’t usually difficult. If he wasn’t behind the bar, all Corvo had to do was fire the signal out from the ruin of the Hound Pits tower, and a while later he would hear the tinny rumble of Samuel’s engine on the murky Wrenhaven waters.

He heard it now, standing in the courtyard of the Hound Pits. The place was heavy with memory for Corvo, and sometimes he felt he could almost hear Havelock pacing or Lydia’s dry laugh. The thought of the days spent here, and all that had happened since, always made him sombre… He tried not to think about it, usually. Except for the odd long night when all that he had lived through would replay ceaselessly in his head - those were the nights when he wandered restlessly along the quays. They had come more often recently.

 

“Master Corvo!” came the familiar drawl. Hurriedly, Corvo removed his mask and stashed it in his greatcoat. The boat’s hull banged against the stone bank, and Corvo knelt and helped Samuel tie the boat to its berth.

 

“Hello, Samuel. It’s good to see you.” he said sincerely. It had been too long since his last pint at the Pits. The weathered sailor was in his mid-seventies now, and his grey hair was showing strands of white. Crow’s-feet wrinkles fanned out from his hooded eyes, which were as clear as ever, if a little rheumy. Despite the signs of ageing, he was every inch the good-hearted man who had saved Corvo’s life so long ago, and Corvo knew very well that he owed everything to the unassuming mariner.

 

“What brings you here?” asked Samuel in his unhurried accent. “How is young Emily doing?”  
“She’s very well, thank you”, answered Corvo. “I’m here because there’s something I need to ask-”  
“Anything, Master Corvo”, said Samuel, throwing down the rope and stepping out of the _Amaranth. _“Come right in.”__

__

__*_ _

__

__Half an hour later Corvo was back on the rooftops.  
He had revealed to Samuel the bare minimum concerning his predicament, keeping the subject strictly on the knife and who was likely to have it._ _

__

“A knife?” Samuel had asked, surprised. “Now why would you want that?”  
“Confidential Empire business”, Corvo replied hastily. “As much as I want to, I can’t disclose-”  
“Of course” said Samuel briskly. “And it belonged to the Pendletons, you said?”  
Corvo nodded.  
“Well, I never heard of such a thing…” said Samuel, hunching over his whiskey.“I’m sorry Corvo, but I don’t know nothing about some knife.” 

__

__Corvo frowned, disappointed._ _

__

“But…” continued Samuel. “Most times, you wanna know the comings and goings of valuable objects, you go to the gangs… And, word on the river is, there’s a new addition to the Bottle Street gang, a Pendleton bastard. If anyone knows about your knife, that’s the one. That’s my bet.”  
“Do you know his name?” asked Corvo, leaning forward. 

__

Samuel considered this, chewing on a bit of gristle. “I hear it’s Blind Bill. Short guy, and violent. Be careful, Corvo, this ain’t Slackjaw. The Bottle Street boys have changed hands and they might not be so friendly these days… I’m just sayin’ watch your step.” 

__

__Corvo had smiled, gratified. “Thank you, Samuel. I’ll keep that in mind.”_ _

__

__He had finished his whiskey, taking his time, then bade the sailor farewell. Now, with his mask on, he stood on the rooftop above Distillery District base.  
The wind was cold, and he hugged his asymmetrical black greatcoat tighter around his shoulders, clenching and unclenching his left hand.  
The plan was to walk in with weapons sheathed and hands up in a gesture of peace. If the Bottle Street men got violent he would Blink out of their reach and wait till the chaos died down, then confront this Blind Bill person alone.  
It had been a long time since he had been out in the city, mask on and sword at his hip, and he could feel his old way of thinking kicking in - analysing the probable layout of buildings, judging Blink spaces, counting crannies to hide in. It was exhilarating, but also tinged with fear - if he messed up, he would die. Whether because of being shot by a thug or the Mark on his hand, he couldn’t say. 

__

__Suddenly Corvo’s vision flickered, and to him it suddenly seemed as though he were floating, suspended. Fish flickered past him in the soft blue light, and rays of undulating sun stretched golden fingers down into the depths. A whale swam along the street below him and seaweed crept over the bricks of the crumbling houses. Debris floated by him - the broken link of a chain, the spoke of a wheel, a golden pocketwatch mottled with rust. His chest felt flooded with a strange loneliness._ _

__

__Then Corvo blinked, and the illusion of the ocean was gone. The houses were intact and seaweed-free, and instead of a whale a horseless carriage trundled down the street. He rubbed his eyes, and looked at the Mark. It tingled and glowed, and as he watched a fracture of glowing white light appeared on his knuckle, fanning out from the Mark.  
It was spreading, a reminder to get moving. _ _

__

__Corvo inhaled some cold clean air and Blinked down to the distillery entrance. Two thugs loitered outside the door, which appeared mostly as it had six years ago. One he recognised from his deals with Slackjaw, with Serkonan dark skin. The other was new, and was dotted with plague scars under his eyes. They jumped at his sudden appearance, hands darting to their guns._ _

__

__“I mean no harm”, said Corvo, hands in the air. “I only want to speak with someone.”_ _

__

__“You’re him”, said the Serkonan one. “You cheated Slackjaw outta the gold in that safe. Why would we let you in?”_ _

__

__“Did Slackjaw ever mention that I saved his life before he left?” answered Corvo, his voice muffled through his mask._ _

__

__The thugs exchanged doubtful glances. “He coulda said somethin’...” said the second guy. “Somethin’ bout Granny Rags.”  
The first guy looked him over critically, jaw stuck out. “Who you wanna talk to?”  
“I’m looking for someone called Blind Bill”, said Corvo. “Heard he was here.” 

__

__The two gang members exchanged glances, the expression of which Corvo couldn’t judge. The plague-scarred one hawked deep in his throat, spat a gob of mucus onto the cobbles, and rested his huge hands on his suspenders. “Fine, but you gotta be ready to talk to the boss.”  
“The boss?” asked Corvo, surprised. “What’s his name?”  
The thugs smirked. “No questions, felon”, said the Serkonan, moving to open the metal door. Corvo started to follow, but his red-haired friend stopped him with a threatening hand on his chest. 

__

__“Ah ah ah”, he said. “Cough up.” He made a beckoning gesture, grinning greedily, and Corvo mentally dismissed him as an idiot. The city had changed, but the thugs were still stupid.  
He saw no choice but to hand over the bribe money, as the last thing he needed was to start a fight. The thug pocketed the money with a smirk and waved him inside._ _

__

__Corvo sighed through his nose into the velvet lining of his mask and stepped into the Bottle Street Gang base.  
Inside, little had changed. It still and stank of piss and whiskey, and thugs in bowler hats waited around, smoking, counting money or talking. They all stared at Corvo with hostility in their eyes as the Serkonan and the ginger marched him through with a gun to his back. He had to admit, the loathing on their faces was a little unnerving. Samuel was right, Corvo thought. The gang really had changed._ _

__

__The distillery itself was loud with the sound of the distillers. They had been inactive in Slackjaw’s time as the gang had focused on bootlegging health elixir. Now they were clearly back in production, making low-quality black market alcohol. There were fewer rats and more broken windows than he remembered, but it was still the same dingy warehouse.  
The thugs dragged him down the stairs to where Slackjaw’s desk had been. Posters covered the walls, advertising whores and whiskey where there had once been wanted signs and elixir ads. _ _

__

__In the space under the stairs was Slackjaw’s old desk. It was hard to see in the bad oil light, but someone appeared to be sitting at the desk, hunched over a ledger. The thug prodded him in the back with the pistol, urging him forward. Try as he might, he couldn’t make out the face of the man sitting at the table._ _

__

__“Masked Felon to see you, boss”, said the ginger. “‘Said ‘e wanted to talk to Blind Bill.”_ _

__

__The shadow at the desk slipped off the chair and stepped into the pool of light._ _

__

__Corvo’s breath caught in his throat as he registered the face - a girl, and young at that._ _

__

__She was short, maybe 5”2, with black hair. She wore simple brown trousers, tucked into boots, with suspenders over a stained cream shirt. Two Karnacan revolvers were strapped across her chest and a short-sword hung at each hip, the hilts encrusted with emerald and jade. Her hands, ungloved, were scarred and her arms were stained with fading tattoos._ _

__

__Her most startling feature, however, was her eyes._ _

__

__One, the left, was clear and black, with thick lashes and corners that swept up. The other was a mass of scar tissue, wet and glistening, her eye socket a mess of ridged skin and crusting scabs. Red scars extended up her tanned forehead, breaking the line of her eyebrow, and down her cheek, puckering the inflamed skin. Apart from this her pretty face was unchanged, and it looked like someone had just scratched away the paint on the right eye of her portrait._ _

__

She regarded him suspiciously, and not without amusement. “Did he now?” She folded her arms. “Well he won’t have to go far.”  
She waved one of the thugs away and he lumbered back up the stairs, taking swigs of whiskey. The other, the Serkonan, moved to go but she stopped him with a glance. “Stay, Karel.”  
Karel leaned against the locker and glowered at Corvo. 

__

__“Now”, said Slackjaw’s successor. “You wanted to speak to me?”_ _

__

__All at once, Corvo realised._ _

__

__“You’re Blind Bill”, he said, trying to sound as if he had known that before now. Curse Samuel - the fact that Blind Bill was the boss of the Bottle Street gang would have been nice to know before he walked in. The fact that she was a girl might have helped too._ _

__

__“The very same”, she replied. “You’re the Masked Felon. Or... would you prefer Lord Protector Corvo Attano?”_ _

__

__The thug, Karel, choked slightly behind him and stared, appalled, at Corvo. Surprised and disturbed, Corvo stayed silent, cautiously regarding Bill._ _

__

__“You don’t lead the best gang in Dunwall without putting two and two together”, she said wryly. “You didn’t make it hard, did you? You get out of prison and all of a sudden a masked terror walks the streets, killing the people who wronged you.”  
Again, Corvo said nothing.  
“You must have a good reason to come here, milord”, said Bill, her tone derisive. “Do tell.”  
She went to a distiller, poured two glasses of whiskey and handed him one. He didn’t drink. 

__

__Seeing no point in keeping it on, Corvo removed his mask. Facing Bill again, he thought he could see surprise in her face. She hadn’t been totally sure, he thought to himself. She had taken a risk and gotten it spot-on.  
“You’re Pendleton’s child, aren’t you?” he said without preamble. “A Serkonan bastard daughter.”  
Something dark and vicious flashed across Bill’s face, but was gone so quickly he wasn’t sure if it had been there at all.  
“Oh yes,” she answered. “Wilhemina Pendleton Cheng, at your service. The kid of a southern whore and a northern lord. Why do you want to know?” She downed her whiskey and placed the cut glass on her desk, then leaned against it and gazed at him with hostility. 

__

__“I need to find an object that I hear you may know about”, Corvo explained, noting the slightly heightened tension in the room. “A Pendleton heirloom.”_ _

__

__“And if such a thing exists”, said Bill, “Why would I tell you?”_ _

__

__“What do you want?” asked Corvo. “Money? A favour?”_ _

__

__“I like the way you think”, said Bill, grinning. “A favour would be excellent. How about…” she laced her fingers together and paced, thinking. “How about you do a certain task for me and in return, I tell you all I know about any Pendleton items, if I know anything.”_ _

__

__“Tell me”, demanded Corvo._ _

__

__“There’s a certain man I want dead”, replied Bill. “He insulted me, and I don’t forget a slight. I would like you to make him suffer before the end, then slit his throat. Bring me back proof. Then I’ll tell you what I know.”_ _

__

__“And who do you want dead?” asked Corvo, clenching and unclenching his right hand.  
As a general rule, he did not kill. There was enough death in the world without his contribution, and Bill’s price was a high one. He had restored Emily to the throne with almost no blood spilled and he wasn’t about to start now._ _

__

__“He’s a noble. Harrion Estermont, the son of your daughter’s lord advisor. Right prick, he is. Wears a red ascot and has a birthmark on his chin. He should be at the Estermont Mansion in the Estate District with his sister, Engrey. The Lord is at court, so it shouldn’t be too hard for you to get in an out again unseen. Or butcher them, servants and all. I don’t care. Just get it done.”_ _

__

__If there was one thing Corvo knew, it was that killing the son of a lord on his council was something he simply could not reconcile himself to. Maybe he would if Emily were in danger, but now it was only his own life on the line. His was not so important._ _

__

__“Before I kill him, I would like to know that he deserves it”, said Corvo. “What did he do?”_ _

__

__Bill’s face flashed with anger, before showing a depth of vulnerability he wouldn’t have expected from her. She gazed at him with pain in her eyes._ _

__

__“Before I joined the Bottle Street gang, right after I came to Dunwall,” she began, “I went to my father for help, thinking he might legitimise me. I was poor, I had nothing but the knowledge that my father was a rich lord, and I hoped he might take me in. At least as a servant.  
“But I was wrong. Nathaniel Pendleton told his sons to escort me to the Golden Cat. They told me it was a bath-house where I might find stable work. I believed them.”_ _

__

__Corvo swallowed hard, thinking he knew what came next._ _

__

__“When we arrived it dawned on me what was happening. I saw whores hugging, whores crying, laughing, being dragged away by men already with their belts unbuckled. I began to struggle.  
“I clawed at Custis. Or Morgan. I don’t know, they look the same. I drew blood, scratching him down the cheek. The other restrained me, but I headbutted his chest - the solar plexus. Hard. He bent double. Then I bloodied his nose for him. The first one slapped me, sent me flying… I hit my head on the pavement. As I lay dazed, their friend Harrion came out of the Golden Cat. He was all too eager… You know what came next. Morgan and Custis, they… They just stood and watched. After, I was too weak to move. The one with the broken nose knelt over me with a blunt knife and took my eye, saying I should have thought twice before touching them. That I was a filthy southern whore who thought she could be a Pendleton. Then they tossed two coins at me and left me there, bleeding, too weak even to cry.”_ _

__

__Karel shifted uncomfortably, looking away._ _

__

__“But I got up”, said Bill. “The girls in the Golden Cat took me in, hid me in their rooms. One had had a doctor for a father, and she helped heal my eye. I am eternally indebted to them.  
“When I joined the Bottle Street gang, Slackjaw was like a father to me. He taught me to fight, how to live on the streets. I owe him everything. When he learned how I lost my eye, he wanted to kill the Pendleton twins, but couldn’t get near them. Then you came along, promising to get them both in one stroke. Slackjaw had a better idea.  
“He brought them in, and I cut their tongues out myself. I was able to tell which one took my eye because his nose hadn’t set properly. I cut his eye out too. Now I live in the knowledge that they toil in their own mines, praying for death.  
“But Harrion Estermont… There were no consequences for him. He never suffered for raping me and who knows how many others. There was no justice... I need you to be that justice. I want you to make him sorry for what he did.” 

__

__“Very well”, said Corvo, inclining his head. “I will return by dawn.”_ _

__

__*_ _

__

__Emily’s breath came heavily through flared nostrils as she stared at the heart in her hand._ _

__

__It was beating faintly and ticking to itself, turning cogs visible within the circular core. Wires and veins spiderwebbed the fleshy deep red exterior, stretching and contracting as it pulsed grotesquely between her bleeding fingers. As she stared in horror and bewilderment at the gory heart, she became aware of a quiet whispering sound. Cautiously, she bent her head and put it to hear ear like a morbid seashell._ _

__

___“They whisper and writhe in the shadows”…. “In the icy north, flesh becomes glass”.... “When the last leviathan is gone, darkness will fall.”_ _ _

____ _ _

____Emily gasped and dropped the heart, and it fell to the floorboards with a wet thud. Shuddering, she scooted away a few inches, mouth dry.  
Emily would know that voice anywhere. She had prayed to hear it just one more time outside of half-remembered dreams that always woke her crying. Her chest ached with a fresh sense of loss and she swallowed back salty tears._ _ _ _

____ _ _

____Jessamine… How was her mother’s voice coming from a mechanical heart? And why, why was such a macabre object hidden in Corvo’s chambers?_ _ _ _

____ _ _

____Emily had accepted that there was something he wasn’t telling her, ever since he opened the door of the room Havelock shoved her in on Kingsparrow Lighthouse. No ordinary man could have gotten past all those guards, and last night’s events only made her certain. Corvo was a heretic, and had undoubtedly consorted with the Outsider. Black magic, blood magic. That was how she had been restored to the throne.  
She looked at the heart where it lay on the floor, glistening in the morning light. Her own heart was beating wildly with fear. She was afraid for Corvo… and of Corvo._ _ _ _

____ _ _

____How many secrets was he keeping from her?_ _ _ _

____ _ _

____A distant guard called her name from the war room, and Emily bit her lip, not feeling ready to face her military advisors after what she had just seen. Gritting her teeth, she gingerly placed the heart back in the gap and replaced the floorboard. Brushing dust from her tunic she stood, checked everything was as she had found it, and shut the door behind her as she left._ _ _ _

____ _ _

______Johanna Fowler drew her aside just as she entered the war room and spoke to her in hushed tones. “Lady Emily, my spies have news-”  
“Morley?” asked Emily abruptly.  
“No, Tyvia. There’s been an outbreak of some sort, some strain of infection that is rumoured to be killing the natives of northern Tyvia by the hundreds.”  
“Not rat-related?”  
“No, not the rat plague.” Johanna’s frown deepened, prompting Emily to question her further.  
“What is it?”  
Johanna fiddled with a button on her jacket, scowling. Emily remembered that she had Tyvian relations and softened a little.  
“How many dead?” she asked gently, touching the spymistress’s arm. 

____ _ _

____“The numbers vary from fifty to seventy-five”, answered Johanna. “Even the savages of the ice wastes are travelling south seeking aid. They say it’s a curse.”_ _ _ _

____ _ _

____“There’s something else”, said Emily. “Isn’t there?”_ _ _ _

____ _ _

____Yes.” Johanna’s eyes met hers, troubled. “The victims’ skin, they say, is crystallizing like glass. It starts on the hands and feet, then spreads to the legs, arms and face - much like frostbite. Flesh becomes grey, hard and ridged, then almost overnight clear crystals form. Victims have been seen tearing away their clothes because of the painful shards, then perishing in the cold. Even the whites of the eyes are coated with a thin veneer of sand-like grains, causing loss of sight. In the final stages, the extremities become numb and bloodless. Rumour has it that once you can’t feel your elbows or knees, it’s only a matter of time.”_ _ _ _

____ _ _

____Emily passed a hand over her face, despairing._ _ _ _

____ _ _

____“More exteme cases are found further north, near Samara, and the disease seems to be spreading southwards. Tyvian physicians have found it to be highly contagious, contracted when a diseased victim’s crystalline flesh comes into contact with that of a healthy person. The crystals take root in the flesh. The savages call it _‘ah’tunakíseál,‘ _or “wrath of the ice god.” Tyvians have christened it ‘The Glass Plague.’”___ _ _ _

______ _ _ _ _

______Sucking in a deep breath, Emily focused her gaze on Johanna. “For now attend the Morley discussion, then I need you to summon Dr. Sokolov and the ambassador to Tyvia. Liaise with them on contacting the doctors and natural philosophers of affected towns. We need quarantines, containment. You know what will happen if word of this reaches the Dartins. This evening I will hold a council with the three of you to discuss a way forward.”_ _ _ _ _ _

______ _ _ _ _

______Johanna nodded and moved over to the long mahogany table that served the military council._ _ _ _ _ _

______ _ _ _ _

______The meeting itself went well, with Russell agreeing to marshall the Imperial forces who acted as policemen in Morley. He himself would travel to the capital, Caulkenny, to lead an investigation. Emily would contact the King of Morley and order him, in flowery royal terms, to help her deal with the Dartins in the name of the Empire._ _ _ _ _ _

______ _ _ _ _

_______Afterwards, Emily stood in the bathroom, splashing water on her face. She was hungry and tired after the meeting, which had gone on for about two hours as they discussed where troops would be stationed and how to root out the Dartins’ base. She’d had reports of small attacks on Imperial convoys during the night. Guerilla tactics, cowardly but effective. The tactics of desperate men._ _ _ _ _ The rumours of plague in the far north scared her more than she liked to admit. She’d seen the effects of the rat plague and what it did to Dunwall, and that was only one city. And people’s skin turning to glassy crystals? Was that worse than coughing and weeping blood? She wasn’t sure. 

She dried her face and stared in the mirror, imagining herself with diamond-like crystals embedded in her face and encrusting her arms.  
It was only then that her mother’s voice whispered in her mind - “In the icy north, flesh becomes glass.” Emily stumbled back from the sink, her reflection’s expression shocked. She remembered now - the heart had warned her.  
Was that what the whispering was? It seemed to tell the holder truths about the world. 

Then an awful thought struck her: Had Corvo known? Had her mother’s heart told him about the Dartins, or that there was plague in Tyvia? He had never hinted it, but if he possessed an object that told him such things she had to assume he used it. 

For the first time Emily’s feeling towards Corvo were infused with distrust. Where was he now? Why had he gone off on some private business just when things in the Empire were deteriorating?  
She had to stay focused on keeping the empre afloat, and he was making it hard for her. Surely whatever the business with his glowing Mark was, it couldn’t be more important than what she had to deal with. 

________ _ _ _ _ _ _

____________Could it?_ _ _ _

* __

__There was no Samuel to ferry him to the Estate District this time, reflected Corvo.There was no way he would get the old sailor involved. He’d make his own way there.  
Sucking in air, he dipped below the murky Serpentine water level and pushed forward. Under the surface, the canal was green with algae and hagfish were darting this way and that in the corners of his vision. He wasn’t worried, though - he’d found a bone charm that warded them off.  
He had made it almost the whole way there on a ‘borrowed’ boat, then when he felt the need to be more stealthy he slipped into the river with scarcely a splash. Whenever he got tired of swimming, he simply Blinked through the water._ _

________ _ _ _ _ _ _

________It was dusk and he was nearing the Estermont house now, having swum past the sewer entrance to the Boyle estate. Chandeliers, fluttering confetti and grotesque masks spun past in his mind’s eye, but he kept swimming, refusing to dwell on it. He wasn’t proud of what he’d done to Lady Boyle._ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

________ _ _ _ _ _ _

________The Estermont House was smaller than the Boyle estate, but still imposing. Tall, with cream marble facing and Sagguntan fluted columns, the house had red ivy climbing to the roof and lights on in every window.  
The garden bordered on the Serpentine canal bank, separated with a high spiked fence. Attached to the house by the back door was the power core for Sokolov’s new security system, the Shiner, which clamped an intruder’s feet down and beamed a floodlight at them while a klaxon wailed. Effective, but only against a single thief. Corvo was sure Sokolov hadn’t planned for an intruder who could Blink._ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

________ _ _ _ _ _ _

________The Estermonts also didn’t appear to have the Arc Pylon that caused unconsciousness, thankfully. That could have been a problem.These days no tallboys stalked the street either._ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

________ _ _ _ _ _ _

________Corvo heaved himself out of the water under cover of darkness, and used Windblast to instantly dry his clothes and hair. He had left the heart back at the Tower, unfortunately, so he had no idea if there were any runes nearby. The Estermonts were the type of noble family who would keep one just for the sheer audacity. Nobles liked to show that they were above the Abbey.  
Corvo Blinked over the fence and landed with a thud. The Shiner began to whirr and swivel, and he hurriedly Blinked over to the power core, opened it and pulled it out as quietly as he could. The Shiner went dead._ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

________ _ _ _ _ _ _

________Corvo did not like being out in the open, so his next task was to get up high. He spotted a pipe halfway up that went from the third floor window and wrapped horizontally around the side of the house. He Blinked there, then to a fifth-floor balcony and then pulled himself up onto the roof gutter.  
His hand hurt, so he crouched for a moment and caught his breath, then took Piero’s remedy from an inside pocket and gulped some from the cylinder. It tasted awful, but his left hand stopped hurting - that old familiar ache._ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

________ _ _ _ _ _ _

________The cold wind whipped at his hair up here, and he could see out over all of the Estate district. The mansions of the rich glittered in the darkening night, with the Serpentine cutting a dark S shape from the distant smudge of the Wrenhaven. Kaldwin Bridge’s security lights made the harbour water glow blue, and the huge merchant ships moved slowly, silhouetted. A red glow was fading on the horizon._ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

________ _ _ _ _ _ _

________Corvo adjusted his mask and flicked on Dark Vision. It was as though a light came on behind his retinas - his sight was sharper, he could see in the dark, and of course people and objects lit up, even through all the walls of the house below him._ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

________ _ _ _ _ _ _

________Even though the house had more floors than that of the Boyles, only five people lit up yellow. Harrion and Engrey, he supposed, were on the bottom floor. One, the more feminine one, was curled in an armchair with a book. The other was lounging on an ottoman, engaged with what looked like a snuffbox. That would only make his work easier. Two had to be servants, cleaning and polishing. One was asleep in a fouth-floor room. Lady Estermont, he guessed._ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

________ _ _ _ _ _ _

________There was a window open on the top floor, so Corvo held tight to the gutter and swung himself inside, feeling the old thrill of being on a mission.  
The first room was a bedroom, probably Engrey’s, with blue drapes on the bed, walls bristling with bookshelves and makeup on the dresser. He strode to the door, opened it quietly, and crept to the stairs. The only other room on the top floor was an attic._ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

________ _ _ _ _ _ _

________He crept along the hallway, sneaking past Lady Estermont’s room, and continued downstairs. The two servants were on the third and second floors. One, a woman, was cleaning tables in the drawing room below him. He went down onto the same level as her and looked through the keyhole before entering silently. Creeping up behind her, he choked her out and placed her under a table.  
Next was the manservant on the second floor, polishing the dining-room silverware. Corvo Blinked behind him and did the same, sitting him in a chair as though he had fallen asleep._ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

________ _ _ _ _ _ _

________Now came the hard part. Silently Corvo came to the bottom floor and snatched a tartlet before creeping to the keyhole and looking in. Sure enough, the siblings were sitting inside. Harrion lay stretched out on the ottoman, head bent over a small lacquered snuffbox.  
Sure enough, a red ascot was tied around his white throat and a purple birthmark bruised his chin. He had curling dark hair and dark eyes with long eyelashes, but there was an arrogant cast to his face, and when he inhaled the snuff he leant back with an expression of ecstasy. His younger sister, Engrey, was watching him with distaste, book forgotten in her lap. A small white lapdog slept at her feet._ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

________ _ _ _ _ _ _

________He wouldn’t get a better opportunity._ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

________ _ _ _ _ _ _

________Corvo froze time, slipped inside and grabbed the key from where it hung by the door. He locked the door and slipped the key into his pocket. Then he choked Harrion, and he fell limply where he sat.  
He had seconds left, so he crossed the room and put his hand over Engrey’s mouth. Time started to flow again, and Engrey Estermont screamed, muffled by his hand._ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

________ _ _ _ _ _ _

________“Be quiet”, said Corvo, and she stopped screaming, eyes wide._ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

________ _ _ _ _ _ _

________“I’m here for your brother”, he said. “You know the things he’s done, haven’t you?”_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

________ _ _ _ _ _ _

________Engrey frowned, her brown eyes beseeching, then eventually nodded._ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

________ _ _ _ _ _ _

________“Then you understand what I have to do.”_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

________ _ _ _ _ _ _

________She nodded, more reluctantly this time._ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

________ _ _ _ _ _ _

________“I will take my hand away now. There’s no point in screaming. Nobody will hear you.”_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

________ _ _ _ _ _ _

________Her eyes narrowed and she pulled his hand away from her mouth._ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

________ _ _ _ _ _ _

________“What will you do to him?” she demanded._ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

________ _ _ _ _ _ _

________“That’s where you come in”, answered Corvo. “I don’t want to kill him, but there is no justice in letting him live on unharmed.”_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

________ _ _ _ _ _ _

________“Perhaps, but there is mercy”, said Engrey._ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

________ _ _ _ _ _ _

________Corvo shook his head. “Like the mercy he showed his victims?”_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

________ _ _ _ _ _ _

________Engrey’s expression hardened. “Fine. But I don’t want him dead.”_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

________ _ _ _ _ _ _

________“Then help me. Your brother has to be gone by morning, somewhere he will never return from. If not, he will have to die. Someone powerful wants him dead, and this is all I can offer you.”  
Then it dawned on him. “Sokolov. He is constantly searching for live subjects to experiment on, and since slavery and the rat plague ended, he’s had a shortage. If we deliver Harrion to him…”_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

________ _ _ _ _ _ _

________“But Sokolov has painted Harrion”, said Engrey. “He’d recognise him at once.”_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

________ _ _ _ _ _ _

________“There’s only one solution to that problem”, said Corvo. “Don’t worry. I’ll do it.”_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

________ _ _ _ _ _ _

________Engrey swallowed hard. “I’ll go upstairs now. I want you gone by dawn, and Harrion with you, and no evidence that you were ever here. Do you understand me?”_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

________ _ _ _ _ _ _

________Corvo nodded._ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

________ _ _ _ _ _ _

________“And, whoever you are, I will thank you never to come near me or my family again.”_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

________ _ _ _ _ _ _

________Corvo handed her the key and she turned towards the door._ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

________ _ _ _ _ _ _

_______________“Engrey - I’m sorry.” said Corvo._  
She glanced back at him, held his gaze, then unlocked the door and left.  
Corvo made sure her footsteps had faded away before grabbing Harrion’s jaw, shoving his ascot into his mouth, and pressing the point of his knife into the skin of his cheek, carving a red line into the flesh. 

________ _ _ _ _ _ _

_______________Harrion Estermont’s eyes flew open and he began to scream._ Later, Corvo dumped the unconscious Harrion on the bench of Sokolov’s greenhouse workshop. He had attached a printed note - “A gift. I hear you are in need of live subjects to study. Do with him as you wish. A friend.”  
He had mutilated Harrion’s face. Grimacing, he had cut off the nose and tongue and scarred the rest beyond recognition. He had also taken fingers so that Harrion was unable to write out a plea for help. After the nose, the boy had passed out, and he had been moaning in his sleep when Corvo has sneaked into the workshop.  
Sokolov was asleep in the main area of his house, and Corvo suspected that even if he realized the identity of his new subject, he’d turn a blind eye. Sokolov despised the nobility of Dunwall. The City Watch still patrolled here, and there were two guards on duty at Sokolov’s Kaldwin Bridge house. He had Blinked right past them on his way in, but now one was directly blocking his way out over the rooftops.  
Corvo watched as the guard hawked and spat, then unbuttoned his trousers and began to piss off the balcony. Disgusting, but it made his job easier - while the guard was occupied Corvo slid past him and Blinked away, silent and unseen. Now that his next objective was to get back to the Distillery district, Corvo allowed himself to think on what he had done. Even though Harrion Estermont still lived, what Corvo had personally done to him made him nauseous. His hands were slick with Harrion’s blood, and the sound of his screams was still ringing in his ears.  
Gritting his teeth, Corvo walked on through the dark streets. 

________ _ _ _ _ _ _

_______________His left hand began to hurt, and prickles ran up and down the skin. It felt as though someone were jabbing pins into his arm. He stopped in an alleyway and tore off the bandage._  
Underneath, the white fractures had spread to his knuckles, and blue lights pulsed under the skin of his wrist. He flexed his hand and aimed Blink, and the prickling feeling got worse. As he watched, the Mark spread.  
It seemed to Corvo that using his powers accelerated the growth of the Mark. He’d die when it reached his heart, he recalled… That must mean that using his powers was slowly killing him. 

________ _ _ _ _ _ _

________Well, shit. The Outsider had a lot of explaining to do._ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

________ _ _ _ _ _ _

________Corvo bound his hand back up and shoved it into his pocket, feeling angry and helpless. He didn’t understand why any of this was happening.  
So far he’d confronted Blind Bill, swum through the filthy Serpentine, crept through the house of a noble family, asked Engrey to ignore what he was going to do to her brother, mutilated a young man, sneaked him into Sokolov’s house and escaped unscathed… And he was still no closer to finding the Mortal Knife._ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

________ _ _ _ _ _ _

________He could only hope that Blind Bill had the answers he needed._ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

________ _ _ _ _ _ _

________He walked for hours, alone, avoiding guards and citizens alike. He didn’t want any more rumours circulating that the Masked Felon was back. He didn’t mind the solitude, or the dark. It was a welcome break from being surrounded by court etiquette and circumstance at Dunwall Tower._ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

________ _ _ _ _ _ _

________Dawn was just lightening the sky by the time he made it back to the Bottle Street gang hideout. Karel and the ginger thug ushered him in past the smoking gang members still there, and into the distillery.  
Blind Bill was sitting on one of the distillers with a group of other thugs, playing at tarot. Poker, it looked like. Cigars, coins, jewels, bone charms, even a belt buckle were up for betting. She looked up as he approached, and he was jarred again by the sight of her gory eye socket._ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

________ _ _ _ _ _ _

________“Welcome back!” she called casually, and stood, abandoning the card game. The thugs played on intently. Bill walked downstairs to the cellar door and Corvo hastily followed._ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

________ _ _ _ _ _ _

________“So?” she said as they walked. “Is he dead?”_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

________ _ _ _ _ _ _

_______________“Yes”, replied Corvo. “Or soon to be.”_  
Bill stopped.  
“Soon to be?” she demanded, angered. “I thought I told you-”  
Corvo simply handed her the bag he had carried all the way from the Estermont House. 

________ _ _ _ _ _ _

________She took it cautiously and opened it, then looked back at him quizzically. “Where is he now?”  
“That’s not important. What matters is that he will never hurt anyone again, and I have no doubt that he will suffer for whatever is left of his life. I did what was asked of me.”_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

________ _ _ _ _ _ _

________Bill stared at him, and he thought could see doubt in her eye.  
Then she nodded. “...I’ll tell you what I know.”_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

________ _ _ _ _ _ _

______________She pulled up a chair and sat, straddling the back.  
“When I went to the Pendleton manor for help, they made me wait until Lord Pendleton’s earliest convenience. They left me alone in the drawing room. Naturally, I had a look around. One one of the bureaus there was a small rack with a beautiful jewelled knife, a silver blade encrusted with sapphires and a golden hilt. About the length of my forearm. There was a scroll with it, covered with your Imperial script that I didn’t understand. What I did know, however, was that it was valuable.  
“When I joined the gang I told Slackjaw about it. He’d had his eye on the Boyle cameo, but now he realized that there were bigger whales to catch. He had to flee before he could do anything, though, and he told me to take leadership of the gang when he sailed to Cullero. I’ve had my eye on it ever since, even when Lord Pendleton gave it to the nephew he liked the best. Lord Pendleton was eager to get it off his hands, since after all his sons died folks started saying it was cursed. He gave it to Raymond Downs, who lives in Redmoor. A bailiff, and a cruel one at that. Miserly.  
“Someone in Dunwall offered Downs a huge sum of money for the knife. Downs sold it in secret, making sure Pendleton never found out. Losing all his sons _and _the family heirloom would probably kill the guy. I’ve been working on finding out who bought it. Someone in Dunwall, crazy rich, with an obsessive interest in antiques. Possibly the occult, too, if he knew it was meant to be cursed.  
“And that’s all I know. I’d check out the lead in Redmoor, but I’m gang boss now. ‘Been meaning to send someone, but we been occupied with the Hatters. Since… since you dealt with Estermont, I’d be willing to let you have it, if you can track it down. Plus, I heard it was you saved Slackjaw from Granny Rags. If that’s true, the knife is the least I can do.”__

__________ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

__________Corvo nodded. “Thank you, Bill.”_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

__________ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

__________Bill smiled, making the raised scars on her face crease. “Don’t thank me. Just… make sure your imperial council friends ignore the Bottle Street shenanigans from time to time.”_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

__________ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

__________Corvo laughed. “Done.” He turned to leave. “Goodbye, Bill.”  
“Until we meet again, Corvo.”_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

__________ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

__________*_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

__________ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

__________Back on the rooftops, Corvo breathed in the fresh night air. He had to get back before Dunwall Tower woke up and everyone realized the Lord Protector had been gone all night.  
Emily, especially. He hoped he could return before she raised the alarm._ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

__________ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

__________Corvo broke into a run, leaping the gap between roofs, then Blinked over to the opposite row of houses. He was near where he had first met Granny Rags, and even though new people had moved into her old tenement, he felt as though he could feel her fractured presence through the tiles underfoot._ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

__________ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

__________Luckily for Corvo, around the next corner there was a boat moored to the dock. It still felt strange, climbing into a boat without Samuel, but he clambered in, put a hand on the rudder and started up the engine.  
The waters of the Wrenhaven lapped against the hull as he pulled away from the shore and made for the direction of Dunwall Tower. The stars were still out, but it was a new moon so he had precious little light to steer by, other than the glow of dawn on the horizon. From the river, Dunwall glittered and smoked in the distance, and beyond that the mountains that bordered the city were shrouded in morning fog. _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

__________ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

__________Corvo rubbed his eyes, exhausted. He had eaten precious little in the past day, and it was definitely kicking in. Plus, the memory of putting a knife to Harrion’s face made him shudder, and he just wanted to sleep and forget it all.  
And there was the matter of going north to Redmoor. He was certain that Emily needed him at her side in Dunwall, but if he didn’t find the Mortal Knife he would die. He was going to have to tell Emily about his search for the Knife, and he supposed that would raise questions about his relationship with the Outsider._ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

__________ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

__________Corvo smiled bitterly to himself. As if he knew the answers to questions about the Outsider. He’d managed to forget about the black-eyed deity for a long time, and it was a surreal feeling to have him suddenly appear and deliver a frightening ultimatum._ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

__________ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

___________________It hurt, a little, for the Outsider to show up out of nowhere and declare that he was dying. All through his life he’d stared death in the eye, and now that death was clawing its way up his arm faster and faster with each passing day, he found that he’d do anything to halt it._  
He wanted to see Emily become a woman, and a good Empress, and have a family of her own.  
Damn it... he wanted to grow old. 

__________ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

__________Corvo shook his head. There was no use in dwelling on failure and worst-case scenarios. He was approaching the Tower water-lock now, so he cut the engine and swam the rest of the way into the water-lock. Security had become more lax since Burrows’ time and he was able to retrace his old route across the pipes and through the steaming tunnels, then Blinked across the front courtyard to a wide ledge that wrapped around the building._ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

__________ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

__________His bedchamber window was thankfully still open, the curtains billowing in the wind. Corvo climbed into the darkened room, pulled off his boots, and sat on the bed. His hand prickled again and he ignored it, too tired to care. The walls were blue with dawn by the time he had shrugged off his coat and collar and slid under the blankets. Shivering, he pulled them up to his chin and fell asleep._ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

__________ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

__________*_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

__________ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

__________“Corvo?” said a familiar voice.  
Still half-asleep, Corvo’s mind ran through the possibilities - _Jessamine Emily Beatrici servant - _then it registered that it was a man’s voice.___ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

____________ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

____________Sitting up, Corvo ran a hand through his hair and squinted at the silhouette near his bed. It was lighter now, but it felt like no time had passed since he climbed in the window._ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

____________ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

____________“Corvo?” murmured the man again. Corvo’s vision adjusted and with a start he realized who the intruder was._ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

____________ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

____________The Outsider took another step forward and collapsed._ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

____________ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

____________That woke Corvo up, and with haste he threw the covers back, swinging his legs out of bed. The Outsider was on his hands and knees on the floor. Corvo took a second to just stare at the unlikely scene before helping him up and onto a chair. The Outsider’s head lolled slightly._ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

____________ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

____________“Shit - what’s wrong?” he demanded, panicked and at a loss for how to react. “What can I do?”_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

____________ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

____________“You... have to hurry, Corvo”, muttered the Outsider, his black eyes half-closed, his head drooping._ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

____________ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

____________This close, Corvo could see that sweat beaded his pale skin, and his neck was veined with the same blue-white cracks that covered Corvo’s hand._ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

____________ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

____________“Why? What is it?” cried Corvo anxiously. His mind was ticking over with possible reasons for the Outsider’s distress._ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

____________ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

____________“He’s… He’s destroying it.”_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

____________ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

____________“Destroying what? The Knife?”_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

____________ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

____________“Yes. I thought we had more time. Two weeks, at least. I was wrong. You must find it, Corvo. Quickly.”_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

____________ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

____________“What are you talking about? Who’s destroying the Knife?”_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

____________ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

____________“I don’t know...Can’t find him. He’s...shrouded. Hidden. Don’t know how. Just track him down.”_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

____________ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

____________The Outsider stroked his jaw, appearing to gather himself a bit._ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

____________ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

____________“Corvo, do you remember Granny Rags? She was immortal because she bound her life to a cameo, a piece of jewellery. There is a ritual you have to perform, inscribed on the walls of a Pandyssian temple. If it’s successful, you can live as long as the object you’re bound to is intact. Whoever holds the Mortal Knife has… somehow managed to bind my humanity to it. If the Knife is destroyed, I’ll die. I’ll fade into a part of the Void. And you… You’ll probably be lost forever in the Void too, judging by the way your Mark has spread.”_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

____________ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

____________“But why will you die if you lose your humanity? Surely being a god is what sustains you…?”_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

____________ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

____________“Picture the Void as a river, Corvo. For someone like me, there are certain conditions you have to fulfil in order to avoid being swept away. I’m a perfect compound of Void and human, mixed together into one being. Neither human nor Void, so never fully in one world or the other. This is what keeps me afloat. If my humanity is destroyed, I’ll become the Void and the Void will become me. You, too, will be lost.”_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

____________ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

____________“How can you tell?” asked Corvo. “And why…” he struggled to find the right words. “Why will the destruction of the Knife have such an effect on me too?”_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

____________ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

____________The Outsider sighed. “It’s already past your wrist, isn’t it?”_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

____________ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

____________Corvo nodded._ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

____________ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

____________“Then it’s spreading faster than it would on many of my other Marked. That’s because you have a rare ...affinity with the Void. All my Marked do - the Mark would kill you otherwise - but you have it stronger than most. I was the same, when I was alive._ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

____________ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

____________“This connection with the Void means that you can have prophetic dreams, or see through the eyes of whales, or - with the right equipment - hear the whispers of the dead. You’re more in-tune with the natural cycles of the moon and sea. But it also means that the Void is always calling you, so instead of death when your Mark reaches your heart, it will claim you. If that happens... even I can’t save you. I’m sorry.”_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

____________ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

___________“...Right.” said Corvo, shaken. “Then why did you Mark me in the first place?” “The Mark of the Outsider doesn’t give you powers”, began the Outsider. “If you’re born with an affinity for the Void, you already have them. The Mark just acts as a channel, increasing them tenfold. That’s why each Marked has their own set of gifts.  
“I gave you that Mark when you were at your lowest, when you had lost everything. You proved your force of will by escaping Coldridge and getting to the Hound Pits with no supernatural help. I figured it was time to show you your own potential and watch what you did with it. I gave you that Mark in the knowledge that if I died, you’d be grievously affected, but the fact that I was immortal made me overlook that. Now whoever has bound my humanity has thrown everything into jeopardy.”_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

____________ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

____________“And what will happen to you when the Knife is destroyed?”_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

____________ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

____________“I’ll die. You’ve heard the Heart, haven’t you? _“When the last leviathan dies, darkness will fall.” _I’m the last leviathan, and when I die I will no longer be able to hold back the Void. It will devour everything.”___ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

______________ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

______________“Then why have we been talking about me?” Corvo exclaimed. “Won’t everyone share my fate if you die?”_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

______________ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

________________________The Outsider shook his head. “I don’t think so.”  
“Why not?” asked Corvo.  
The Outsider raised his head and stared at Corvo grimly._ _ _ _

______________ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

______________“Because I think whoever’s killing me intends to take my place.”_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

______________ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

______________Corvo gazed silently at the Outsider, considering the gravity of the situation.  
“Tomorrow I’ll travel to Redmoor and find the last known owner of the Knife”, Corvo said eventually. “I’ll discover who has it, track them down and get it back. Will you know what to do with it then?”_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

______________ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

______________“Yes”, the deity answered. “I can unbind my immortality from the Knife if you find it for me. It’s-”  
He broke off and doubled over in pain, tendons straining in his neck._ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

______________ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

______________“Outsider?” said Corvo, alarmed. He pulled at the Outsider’s shoulder._ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

______________ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

______________“Shit, Corvo”, groaned the Outsider. “It’s so hard to keep myself from dissolving. I have to focus all my energy just on staying in one place. My thoughts…” He put a hand to his head, then curled it into a fist. “My mind is everywhere. It comes in waves - sometimes I’m fine, then sometimes I’m falling apart. My memories… human memories… keep fading. I’m afraid, Corvo. I don’t want to lose myself.”_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

______________ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

______________“There must be something I can do”, said Corvo, feeling helpless and strangely sad._ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

______________ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

______________The Outsider convulsed suddenly, screaming through gritted teeth, and Corvo on impulse reached for his hand and held it. The Outsider gripped it like a drowning man reaching for air._ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

______________ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

______________They stayed like that for a long time, the Outsider slumped in the armchair with both hands clutching Corvo’s, and Corvo sitting on the armrest.  
When the Outsider’s pain stopped Corvo shut his eyes and just listened to him breathe, wondering how he was going to get out of this mess. The Outsider’s head lolled against his arm, and Corvo found himself drifting off. He dreamed of seeing through the eyes of whales._ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

______________ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

______________*_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

______________ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

______________“Corvo?” came a familiar voice._ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

______________ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

______________Corvo jolted awake, thinking the Outsider needed him. His hands closed on empty air.  
Instead of the god, Emily stood in the doorway._ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

______________ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

______________“Why were you sleeping on the chair?” she asked, bemused. “Never mind. I don’t care. What I want to know is where you were yesterday.”_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

______________ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

______________Corvo rubbed his eyes, still exhausted. “I’m sorry. I had to take care of a few things.”_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

______________ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

______________Emily’s mouth pressed into a thin line. “Fine. Don’t tell me. What’s one more secret, anyway?” She sounded close to tears._ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

______________ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

______________“Emily--”_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

______________ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

______________“It doesn’t matter, Corvo. Can you attend council today?”_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

______________ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

______________“Yes. I’ll be there. When?”_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

______________ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

______________“Half an hour. It’s midday, Corvo. You missed crossbow lessons. Anyway, today we’ll be debating the Dartins, and what to do about the plague in Tyvia.”_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

______________ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

______________“There’s a plague in Tyvia?” asked Corvo, sitting up. His hand prickled, but he ignored it._ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

______________ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

______________Emily laughed bitterly. “Seems that people are turning to glass up north. Don’t worry, Johanna will brief you as you eat your breakfast. Make sure you’re on time.”_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

______________ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

________________________She left, with one lingering look at the space under his bed where he had hidden the Heart.  
This troubled Corvo, and he worried that she may have found it. If she saw it without knowing what it was…  
No. The floorboard was secure, and why would she have been snooping around in his room anyway? He was sure she hadn’t found it._ _ _ _

______________ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

______________His hand throbbed painfully again, and Corvo pulled off the bandage. His breath caught in his throat._ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

______________ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

______________The fracture lines had spread all the way up his forearm, nearly to his elbow.  
He was running out of time._ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> sorry for the delay everyone, and happy halloween! i'll definitely have some more corvo/outsider stuff next chapter. Thanks for reading this far, and I'd appreciate some feedback!! :)))


	5. going north

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> hoo guys i'm sorry it's been a million years since i updated but i have never been more uninspired  
> but dishonored 2 came out!!!!!!!!!! :)))))))) i love emily soo much wow  
> and guys if there are any ooc bits or inaccuracies please either tell me or ignore it
> 
> anyway basically i was trying to imagine pandyssian culture in the first bit, sorry if it's incomprehensible  
> then corvo goes north to find this one guy who had the knife  
> yep. enjoy this total piece of shit!

The boy’s head broke the surface and he choked, gulping in air as he floated in the water, too exhausted to swim.  
His head pounded and his vision was so blurred he couldn’t see, so he lay back and tried to dislodge seawater from his throat, hacking and coughing. When his vision cleared and he could breathe again, he saw the day was sunny and undisturbed. The sunlight glittered on the water, as though mocking his near-death encounter far below the waves. Above him, clouds scudded across the blue sky. The sea lapped, buffeting him gently.

His lips tasted of salt and blood, and his throat was raw. Sniffing, the boy started for the rocky shore, his limbs heavy. He was a long way from the rock he had leapt off, but he reckoned he could make it back.

Thankfully, the oyster sack was still slung over his shoulders. Drowning seemed like a better alternative to his father’s anger if he had lost it. 

Too numb to think or feel, the boy kept paddling, eyes fixed on the cliff that signified his survival. His oyster bag clung wetly to his thin back as he struggled to stay afloat, pruned fingers clawing to propel him through the shore water. Seaweed dragged at his bony ankles.

Suddenly a cry broke the silence. His name echoed off the craggy coast cliffs - it was the girl, calling for him. The boy swam faster, encouraged, but too weak to reply or do anything but paddle onwards. Her cry came again, more desperate this time.  
Finally the boy’s toes touched the gritty sand and he was able to walk rather than swim. His footsteps got more staggering as the sea relieved his weight and his sodden trousers weighed him down. He stumbled out of the sea and collapsed on the sand, waves pulling at his legs.

Too tired to get up he lay there, face down, fading in and out of consciousness. The freezing cold that had kept him awake was gone now, and he let himself drift off. 

Some time later, how long he could not have said, he awoke to the sound of running footsteps crunching on the sand. The girl knelt over him and rolled him over. She called his name, her voice gravelly with anxiety and emotion. With effort he opened his eyes, so that he could see her face and behind that, the sky.

Her worried expression softened with relief. “Are you all right? What happened?”

The boy swallowed and moaned, then whispered, “Couldn’t get… the oyster. The whale…”

She frowned. “You saw a whale?” Then she seemed to realise the state he was in and bit her lip, touching an amulet on a thong around her neck. “Never mind that. We need to get you to a healer.”  
The boy drifted out of consciousness again, and when he woke up the girl had company. His father stood over him, expression blank.  
“The oysters?” he demanded, gruff.

Hurt, the boy sat up and fumbled clumsily at the bag on his back, a wave of dizziness washing over him. His father leaned over and snatched it from him, checking inside.  
“Please, he needs the healer”, said the girl, desperate. 

“What happened?” asked his father, still peering in the bag, as though his son’s near drowning was just a slight inconvenience.

The girl pushed her hair back. “I think he had trouble with an oyster. And..”

“What?” asked his father, inspecting an oyster.

“He said something about a whale.”  
The boy’s father looked up sharply. “A whale? This close to land? He must be delirious.”

The boy felt a flash of anger. “I really saw one”, he said. “I looked through its eyes.”

He regretted the words as soon as he had said them. In his clan, whales were a sacred beast, second only to the Sun god Himself. To touch or kill one was sacrilege, a death penalty, and he didn’t know what possessing one would mean.  
Sure enough, his father’s face went white. He leaned in close to the boy, his breath rank. “You’re lying.” he growled.

The boy saw two options: agree, and say that he was wrong about the whale, or stand up for himself and what he had seen. Defiantly, he chose the latter.

“I saw a whale, and then I was the whale”, he said, sticking his chin out. “It was hot, and its pod were leaving. Then I was me again.”

His father stared at him, his eyes like flint, and thought hard for a moment. “Son”, he said eventually. “When were you born?”

Baffled, the boy answered. “In the Moon of Deep Seas”.

Incredulous greed flickered in his father’s eyes. “Come with me, boy”, he said, all anger gone. “Let’s get you to a healer then, eh?”

He reached over, heaving the boy into his arms and stood, carrying his son. The girl stared, her eyes as round as pebbles.

The boy didn’t understand his father’s change of mood. His father had always resented him for being born and had always treated him as though he were some greasy stain that couldn’t be erased. His crime? Being born.  
The boy was the bastard son of the chieftain of the Whale Clan. Fifteen years ago, his father had dallied with a woman from the Deer Clan, one of the nomad jungle tribes that lived inland. The woman, his mother, had given him to his father and melted back into the forest. A bastard son would have been accepted - even normal - in any other clan, but with the Whales family was what mattered most. Like their clan animal, the Whale clan stuck together and had one mate all their lives.  
Infidelity was a sin, and the boy the product of his father’s shame. His father’s wife and trueborn children despised him and had ignored or abused him for all his short life. His only friend was the girl, the daughter of the clan’s best fisher.  
Almost every day his father sent the boy down into the depths to find oysters, searching for treasured pearls. At first, the boy had struggled, afraid of the sea, but his father had tied stones to his feet and pushed him into the water again and again. After his fifth dive, the pressure had made his ears and nose bleed. After the sixth, he had been gripped by debilitating cramps. After the seventh, he had writhed and convulsed on the sand of the beach while his father watched.

It got better after that. He got used to diving for pearls, and began to like seeing the silver fish dart past him and the sunlight stab into the water. He was good at it, and took pride in his talent. Still, his father’s cruelty pervaded his days. Fear of disappointing him, of not getting enough oysters, was all he felt when he thought of him.

Now his father, chieftain of the clan, was carrying him to a healer as though he was a trueborn child. The boy could barely believe it, and hopeful delight began to creep into his heart.  
He looked up at his father and tentatively reached out to hold onto his roughspun jerkin. His father grinned down at him, and the shadow of an answering timid smile began on his own face.

“Go on home, young one”, he called back to the girl and she hurried away, still staring. His father walked on, crunching up the beach with the boy in his arms. 

The healer’s hut was in the middle of the village, wreathed with garlands and charms that warded off evil spirits. After the chieftain’s hut it was the largest, and was filled with beds. The healer was a tall, swarthy man with dark eyes and long fingers, and wore the skulls of birds on a rope around his neck. He was kind, if a little scary, and used talismans to ward away the sickness spirits that plagued the villagers.

The man and the boy came to the crossroads in front of the healer’s shack, but instead of approaching the hut his father kept walking, turning away from the healer’s. Surprised, the boy frowned questioningly at his father, but the man didn’t look down or respond. The boy was troubled by this, but he didn’t want to break the fragile hope his father’s kindness had blossomed in him.

As they walked, the boy got more and more doubtful and confused. Every step took him farther from the aid he ached for with every painful breath. “...Father?” he asked cautiously.  
“Shush now”, came the reply.  
Nervously, the boy subsided and tried to guess where his father was taking him.

The boy turned his head and craned to see their destination. As they walked through the clan’s collection of dwellings, he racked his brain. As they kept going, the only huts left in the village were those of the Mysteries. It was the part of the village that everyone avoided, especially the children, because it was where the priests and magic men stayed in their own cluster of huts. Rumour had it that they raised the dead and built monuments to the workings of the Void.

The boy began to struggle and tumbled out of his father’s arms. They had never been going to the healer’s. His father was delivering him to the priests as a sacrifice, or for some horrifying punishment. The boy tried to run, the blood roaring in his ears, but his father grabbed his wrist and yanked him back.  
“Struggle and I’ll snap your scrawny neck”, he snarled in the boy’s ears, his breath hot. The boy knew for a certainty that he meant it and slumped in terror. His father gripped the back of his neck and shoved him towards the collection of wattle-and-daub houses. 

He flung the boy at the base of the hut and swept aside the hide curtain that obscured the doorway, calling the priest’s name. The boy lay in the dust, gritting his teeth against the tears that welled in his throat. He was still wracked with shivers and blood dripped onto the dirt from his nose, vivid red on the pale earth.

The priest came out, dressed in his black robes, and embraced the chief as an old friend. He bared a tattoo on his chest, which looked like a crescent moon with a bar through it, carved gorily into his chest. The chief did the same, displaying an identical scar.  
“It’s good to see you, friend”, said the priest. “To what do I owe the visit?”

“My… son here”, began his father, “he’s fifteen summers old and was born in the Moon of Deep Seas.”  
“I see”, said the priest thoughtfully. “And during the eclipse?”  
“Sick”, said his father. “Fever.”  
The priest’s eyes began to gleam, and the boy’s chest tightened.  
“And”, the chief continued, “He was talking about seeing through a whale’s eyes.”

The priest clutched at an amulet around his neck and stared at the boy sharply.  
“That hair...and those unusual eyes. Yes. Quickly, bring him inside.”

The boy was picked up like a net of fish and dumped on a large altar-like boulder in the darkness of the hut. More tattooed priests bustled around or stared at him with glassy, curious eyes.  
He lay there, winded, desperately wishing he had drowned or stayed in the whale’s body.

“What will you do with him?” the chief queried almost casually.  
“We will test him”, said the cultist priest. “Find out how much Void runs in his veins. If he shows adequate potential, you know what will happen.”

His father hesitated, then nodded. “I understand.”  
“All we have worked for is finally coming to fruition”, said the priest. “If your boy is truly…”  
“Yes…” the chief replied. “All the signs seem to point to it.

“I must go now”, said the boy’s father. “Already been gone too long. I wish you the best of luck, brother.”  
“May the whales watch over you”, the priest responded, clapping him on the shoulder.

And, as the boy lay numb and despairing on the slab of rock, his father cast him a last unreadable look over his shoulder and slipped through the hide door, leaving him to the mercy of the hooded priests who clustered around him, muttering and making strange signs with their hands.

The boy squeezed his eyes shut.

 

*

Corvo was the picture of courtly dignity and grace that day, trying to make up for his failings. Emily’s attitude was brisk, and he knew that he’d offended her by being gone all day during the crisis.  
The glass plague troubled him. Johanna and Sokolov had swept down on him that morning and explained with diagrams how the plague leapt from victim to victim, latching and crystallizing on their skin. The city of Samara had been quarantined, and the southern Tyvian towns had blocked off all trade to prevent the plague spreading. Another disease, so soon after the rat plague? It couldn’t be a coincidence.

But Corvo couldn’t think too much about that. He had to travel to Redmoor that very night, but how was he going to tell Emily?  
He watched her from his place opposite her at the council table. She was engaged in the debate about rations and quarantine, listening to Aloysius Trom speak with a faintly disgusted expression on her face. Trom was detailing his proposed ration plan with fervour, saying that the officials of Samara and other afflicted towns should sort their food supply out for themselves. Too many councillors were nodding in agreement.

Corvo had heard enough. He shoved back from the table and left the room, leaving Emily, the nobles and ambassadors looking after him in surprise.

 

An hour later Emily found him packing in his chambers, shoving breeches and shirts into an old leather bag.  
“What are you doing, Corvo?” she demanded.  
“I have to leave”, he answered shortly. “I’m travelling north, and I expect to be back within a few days.”  
“What? Why-”

“I have so many things to tell you, Emily, and I promise I’ll explain everything. But you have to trust me when I say that right now _there’s no time._ I have to find something in Redmoor, and if I don’t find it soon bad things will happen.”

Emily’s dark eyes were steady. She took a deep breath. “This has to do with the mark on your hand, doesn’t it?”  
Corvo flinched, his left hand twitching.  
“Alright, Corvo. Just promise you’ll explain what it is and what’s wrong as soon as you’re back.”

“Thank you. I’ll be back before you know it. And watch out for Trom - he’s a sycophant, but he has influence with the council. Stay close to Johanna until I get back, all right?”  
“Okay. Be careful, and come back soon.”

Corvo handed his bag to the footman waiting at the door, hugged Emily hard and made his way down to the waterlock. He would follow the Wrenhaven as far north as he could, then travel overland in a carriage to the plains of Redmoor. 

Raymond Downs, he suspected, would not be hard to find.

Hours later, the carriage juddered over a bump in the road. Corvo had rented it from a dishonest salesman near the northern city gates, thinking it best if he travelled inconspicuously rather than in a royal chaise. He didn't doubt enemies - renegade Whalers, anarchists or Dartin assassins - would follow any journey he made with interest.  
Now he pushed back the grubby cloth curtain and looked at the road ahead, snaking into the mountains. Mist was settling over the plains as it always did in Gristol. Corvo remembered how the Karnaca sun felt, and his eyes tightened. It had been a long time since he'd been anywhere but Dunwall, and now he was travelling in the wrong direction.  
They were already nearing the forest, Corvo guessed, judging by the fields and rocky scrub passing him. It would be tomorrow night before he arrived in Redmoor, and if everything went well he'd be back in Dunwall the following night. He'd find the Knife, give it to the Outsider, and end this mess. With a mind clear of worries about his imminent death as a result of supernatural forces, Corvo could focus on the new plague, the revolt in Morley. He'd help his daughter keep peace in her empire.

Corvo's thoughts strayed to the Outsider. This was not unusual of late - except that Corvo had determinedly kept his mind free of thinking about the god since that morning, when he'd woken up to his absence and felt, to his bemusement, a strange sort of hollowness.

It wasn't loneliness, or even disappointment really - just a sort of fragile feeling in his chest. It was like when he saw something, stars or flowers, maybe, that reminded him of Jessamine. Corvo hadn't touched anyone like that since her death, and the painful sweetness of someone's fingers laced through his gave him an ache he couldn't describe.

Corvo rested an elbow on the sill, put a knuckle to his lips and stared out at the misty dreamlike dusk as the stagecoach rattled on.

*

Emily sighed and put her book aside. It was an story about a pirate queen and her band of rogues, one Emily had loved as a child. Now it stuck her as silly, and the problems the pirates had to deal with seemed inconsequential compared to her own. These days, she liked books that were the other way round. These days, she tended not to read.

She got up from her ottoman and padded out into the corridor, wrapping a soft gown around herself as she went. Things weren't as quiet without Corvo around - the sound of swords clashing in the courtyard was absent, but people spoke louder and less reservedly. The way he moved silently and guarded her back wordlessly put people off, made them more respectful. More nervous.  
Emily could remember the first time she had noticed that, in her room at the Golden Cat. She had never seen it before, but as soon as Corvo had entered in his skull mask he had sensed it, a new hush following him like a dog at his heels. She supposed his time sneaking around had become second nature to him, so much so that he walked as quietly as a ghost.  
For someone as tall and broad-chested as Corvo, his silence made him terrifying to anyone unused to it.

With him gone north, sound seemed to bounce off the walls around Emily, making her feel unsteady. He'd been gone since that afternoon, and it was nearing dawn now. Restless, unable to sleep, she now wandered the corridors.  
Stopping at a wide window, Emily put her fingers to the glass and carefully pulled the sash. Freezing air blew in, raising the hair on her arms. It was far too cold to wander the Tower's rooftops tonight, wind was northerly, bringing cold weather from the glaciers of Tyvia. Emily wondered if it brought something else, too, something that settled in people's pores and crystallized their flesh.  
Emily shut the window and moved on.

She came across the door to the war room and entered quietly, wanting to trail her fingers over the Dunwall city map, whisper street names to herself. To her surprise, there was someone in there despite the early hour. He had his back to her, rifling through some papers on a bureau by the far wall. The sound of his breathing was laboured as he muttered quietly to himself.  
Emily recognised the green Morley velvet coat. Ambassador Trom.  
Emily remembered how he had argued that the infected towns of Tyvia deal with their own problems and her expression soured.

'Why are you in here?" she asked sharply.  
Trom jumped, paper spilling out of his hands. He turned to face her, and there was something guilty about him that made Emily suspicious.

"Empress!" he said smoothly.  
Whatever about his physical appearance, Trom had always had a beautiful voice. She reckoned that was one of the things that gave him so much power with the Council - just listening to him made you want to agree. "I was not expecting your presence tonight."

"Evidently", Emily replied, looking pointedly at the sheets on the floor. "Why are you in here?" she asked again.  
"Just ensuring all is in order", he said, bending to pick them up.

"Stop", Emily commanded. He froze. "Please, I'll deal with that. You head to your chambers, we have a long day tomorrow."

Reluctantly, Trom left the sheets where they lay on the floor, his face tight. He walked stiffly towards her, and though she couldn't be sure Emily thought he tucked something in his pocket, but then he removed a golden fobwatch and she assumed her eyes had deceived her.  
This close, she took him in: his pale pasty face, lack of a chin, small gimlet grey eyes. The lace ascot hiding his white stubbly neck. He was shiny with sweat, and there was something dark and unreadable in his expression as he passed.  
"Excuse me, Your Grace."  
Then he was gone, and Emily strode over to the papers he'd dropped.

They were the food supply and quarantine schemes for plague containment, with a few city grids of Tyvian towns and official profiles. Notes in Sokolov's scrawled hand were annotating the margins of several. Emily picked them up one by one and stacked them, curious as to why Trom wanted to go through these papers in the middle of the night.

As she bundled them together, a leaf of thick, yellowish paper slipped out from between two sheets and fluttered to the floor. It was blank, except for a symbol etched in black ink at the top of one side. Some sort of plant, a star and a sword enclosed in a circle. Emily turned it over and back, curious. She thought of the look in Trom's eyes and slipped the page into her pocket, then placed the papers back into a drawer and left the war room.

 

That morning she woke up to her maidservant Colleen opening her heavy curtains and placing a tray of hot breakfast on her dresser.  
"Good morning, miss", she said brightly. "Lovely day!"  
"Indeed", said Emily blearily. She sat up and rubbed the sleep from her eyes as Colleen busied herself with straightening the sheets and hanging discarded clothes in the wardrobe.  
As Emily slid her legs out from the sheets and wiggled her toes into the soft carpet, the events of earlier that morning struck her suddenly. She was still disturbed by her encounter with Trom in the war room and mystified by the blank sheet of paper he'd left behind. She fished it out of her dressing-gown pocket and considered the unfamiliar symbol. A plant, a star and a sword?

"What's that, miss?" Colleen asked, looking up from where she was taking the bed-warmer out from Emily's bed and brushing away the coal-dust from the brass lid.  
Emily shrugged, flapping it it her hand. "It's nothing, just something I found..."  
"I see, miss," the maidservant answered, and turned to go.  
"Actually, Colleen?"  
The Morley girl turned, arms full of folded sheets. "Yes, miss?"  
"I was wondering if you knew this symbol", said Emily, and held out the paper.

Colleen put the sheets down, sat on Emily's bed and took the cream-coloured page. "That plant... looks like bird's-foot. My dad's a farmer, we feed it to the cattle now and then. Other than that, can't say I know much, milady." Emily watched the maidservant closely. She was fidgeting.

"Thank you, Colleen. You may go", said Emily. "Take a few hours off, you have my permission. Go see that boy - Ludo, isn't it?"  
Colleen's doughy face flushed and she grinned. "Yes miss, thank you miss!" She bobbed several curtsies and left quickly.

Emily dressed and took the note down to the library, determined to find out more. Once there, she headed straight for the botanical section near the back, stroking the spines with her long fingers.  
She found the book she wanted and pulled it down: _'The Language Of Flowers.'_  
Flicking through the browning pages, Emily soon tracked down birds-foot. She lit a candle to illuminate the dark corner of the dusty library and began to read.

_"Bird's-foot trefoil: a common grassland perennial with yellow flowers. The symbology and meaning associated with bird's-foot is generally vengeance or conflict, and the plant is historically worn by the soldiers and royal guard of Morley due to its agricultural properties._

The text went on, listing instances where bird's-foot was sent to targets of assassins as a mark of death, or shown in the livery of anti-Empire establishments.

Emily shut the book and sat back.  
The Dartins. Had to be. A symbol of Morley resistance to the Empire found in the papers of the ambassador to Morley?

All she knew was that Corvo had been right. Aloysius Trom couldn't be trusted, but he had the ear of half the Council, and was on good terms with the City Watch officers. He could be bribing them, turning them against her. That look in his eyes the night before, like he wanted nothing more than to see her head on a pike.

Emily remembered how the last Morley Insurgence had culminated in the death of an Empress, and laid her head on the table.

***

Corvo was drifting alone in the dark. 

It was cold, terribly cold, and strange lights flickered around him in the darkness, but he wasn't afraid. His hair swirled around his head as he sank through the black water.

He shut his eyes against the inky void around him and let the passing lights tinge his vision red. His thoughts were scattered and dim, and he could only register slowly the strangeness of the situation. When his eyes opened he saw something he hadn't before: the left side of his body was webbed with white glowing fractures in the skin. They radiated from his hand, travelled up to his shoulders and massed around an empty hole where his heart should have been.

Corvo couldn't bring himself to care, and closed his eyes again.

Then he sensed rather than felt a thin hand take his. Corvo blinked and saw a figure, shedding sparks like a blazing comet, leaning into him where he drifted. A brief moment of warmth, then it disintegrated as though swept away. The fiery sparks winked out around him and he was alone again in the pitch black.

He began to struggle for breath, the pressure of thousands of tonnes of water above him threatening to burst his skull. His lungs screamed until he could take it no longer and reflexively gulped for air. The blackness flooded his throat and he choked, muscles spasming, as he drowned in the darkness-

Corvo jolted awake, coughing and spluttering. He clawed desperately at his throat, still feeling the black water filling his lungs. Slowly, he began to take deep breaths, resting his hands on his knees.  
He didn't know where he was until it dawned on him that the rumbling motion beneath him was the movement of the stagecoach.  
Breathing heavily through his nose, he tilted his head from side to side. There was a crick in his neck.

Then he became aware of the stinging sensation in his left hand. He was used to that, but now he tracked the feeling up past his wrist, forearm and elbow. The Mark was at his shoulder, it seemed - maybe a hand's breadth from his heart.

Judging from the past few days, that gave him somewhere between a day and a half to two days to live, before the Mark engulfed his heart and sent him adrift in the Void.  
He was sure that's what his dream had been - a forewarning of things to come. He'd be in that darkness forever if he didn't find the Knife and return it to the Outsider.  
He assumed that was what the apparition in his dream had been - the last of the Outsider's human side fizzling out.

He'd been sleeping under his greatcoat, and now he shrugged it back on and adjusted his gloves. The burning light of the Mark was making his whole left hand glow through the thick material, and he hoped nobody would notice. The plan was to avoid human contact anyway - he just needed to find Raymond Downs and interrogate him as to the current owner of the Knife. Then he'd travel back to Dunwall as fast as he could and retrieve it before the worst happened. 

He held the curtain aside and peered out the window. Outside, night had long since fallen, and the great forests and rolling hills had given way to bleak bogland dotted with the red heather that gave Redmoor its name. They must be close.  
Corvo could see stars dimly through wispy clouds. He made out some constellations - the Serpent, the Captain At The Helm, the Great Whale, twinkling close to the horizon.  
They made him feel better after his dreams of unending darkness, that at least in this world there were always stars.

Then he spotted the Ram's Eye over in the west and unease settled over him like a sheen of sweat. The Ram's Eye, a colloquial name for a bright reddish-coloured star, was in legend the guide by which the ancient heroes of Morley had navigated the land and sea. They had taken the star for their symbol, and it had been emblazoned on the Morley livery until the Empire took over.  
To see it now reminded him of the threat the rebels posed. Once his continued survival was assured, he'd have to help Emily crush them, along with the damned glass plague.

Corvo, staring up at the stars, soon noticed the bare bogland become fields. Before long the carriage was passing small cottages, the windows shining buttery yellow.  
Soon the collection of cottages became streets with real houses, and the stagecoach creaked to a halt. Corvo climbed out, patted the snorting horses and paid the coachman before stalking away into the night air.

Redmoor was small compared to Dunwall, but huge for a city that had started off as a fishing village. It was the main centre of trade with Morley and Tyvia, and housed Gristol's second largest Abbey after Dunwall. If his suspicions were correct, Raymond Downs could be found in his townhouse in the main square. He’d sneak in unseen and hunt for clues, records of sale, and if it dragged on too long he’d intimidate the bailiff in his study.

It was cold, colder than Dunwall, and he was unaccustomed to the wide flagstone streets and houses wreathed with ivy. Carriages, not railcars, rattled down the streets and many of the people here were freckled and red-haired, indicating a high Morley population influx. Woodpigeons and sparrows flocked among the chimneys, as opposed to Dunwall’s skinny raucous crows and rooks. Ash trees and naphtha street lamps bordered the roads with brightly coloured bunting strung up between them.  
The harbour was to the north of the city and that was where the main square was. Corvo, his breath steaming in the chill night air, clung to the shadows and put his mask over his face. Even away from Dunwall there was danger he’d be recognised.

Soon he felt the need to elevate himself above ground level. He’d get there faster if he didn’t have to sneak around, so he crept into an alley and aimed Blink at the edge of a rooftop. He felt the usual rush of wind and found himself up among the chimneys, but his hand was smarting painfully. He took one step and it pulsed, forcing him to his knees in agony. Corvo ripped off the glove and stared at it, breathing hard through gritted teeth.  
It was sending intermittent beads of light up his arm, growing under the skin like a cancer. Corvo flexed his fingers and winced, then heaved himself to his feet. It still hurt, but not as intensely. Tugging his glove back on, he strode forward, then broke into a heavy run and Blinked to the next rooftop. He was racked with the same pain and stumbled, then ran on.

He found the main square without much difficulty, other than the excruciating throbbing from his Mark. He crouched on a rooftop and zoomed the lens of his mask at the house opposite, the largest house in the square. The sign by the door came into focus: Hubbard & Sons General Goods. Corvo spun his gaze to the next house and refocused the lens to read the bronze plaque by the door again. O’ Malley Solicitors. The next one, however, read ‘Downs - Imperial Representative.’ Corvo sighed through his nose and returned his lens to normal.

He rose and ran across the rooftops until he was on the house nearest to the objective. Leaning out from the gutter, he aimed Blink at Downs’s balcony and alighted in a crouching position. Flattening his back against the sandstone wall, he flicked Dark Vision on behind his eyes and scanned the house’s interior. Five maids, two guards, a butler and a figure seated at a desk that looked very much like a bailiff. He was on the third floor, two flights down from Corvo’s balcony. There were two maids and a guard in between Corvo and his target.

Fighting a wave of pain and nausea, Corvo picked the lock on the balcony door and stole inside.  
Indoors, it looked almost identical to the house of any Dunwall noble: soft carpets, art on the walls, trinkets on the bureaus. Fortunately for Corvo, it also had the wide chandeliers that had been all the rage in Dunwall during the Rat Plague. He Blinked up to the nearest and made his way unseen along the row of lanterns.

He was feeling the anxiety that always accompanied trespassing and sneaking around, but this time he didn’t have rage and grief to combat it. That was six years ago, and now all he had was fear and a wild desperation.  
He had taken Jessamine’s heart with him, and now he felt it thump against his chest, in his inside coat pocket. He didn’t think he had time for runes, what with his death rapidly approaching, and he wasn’t sure if they would be of any use with his powers in such a state. Nevertheless, he took it from his pocket and listened to its whispering.

“He had a wife once. Now she lies on the seabed, fish darting through the links of the chain on her ankles.”

Corvo felt the same painful longing as always, whenever Jessamine's voice echoed from the cogs embedded in the heart. Judging from what she had said, Downs had murdered his wife, but with the heart you could never really be sure. Corvo kept this in mind, however, as he flashed from chandelier to chandelier.

The first maid he came across was quietly dusting a collection of silverware on a sideboard. Corvo landed on the floor, crept up behind her and choked her out. He left her, unconscious, in a dark corner. He did the same with the guard a few minutes later, who had been smoking out the window, oblivious to Corvo prowling up to him.

The second maid took a tray downstairs before he had a chance to get to her, so he decided to go straight to Downs’s study.

 

The door was left ajar, fortunately, and golden light spilled from the crack. Using Dark Vision, Corvo cautiously eased it further open, making sure Downs wasn't noticing. The aristocrat had his back to the door and was scribbling away in what looked like a ledger. This could get risky, he knew, but he was too far in now to give up. Corvo shut the door and, as quietly as he could, turned the key in the lock.

Then he Blinked over to Downs like a fleeting shadow and placed a hand webbed with glowing fractures over his mouth to muffle any noise. Raymond grunted, eyes widening as he took in the intruder and the silver blade held to his throat.

“Downs”, Corvo snarled, knowing that instilling fear would make his job easier, “You have something I want.”

Raymond whimpered slightly. Up close he was a reedy, chinless man, with eyes that were a curious shade of brown - almost yellow, like those of a seagull.

“You came into possession of a knife recently”, Corvo continued. “Now what I want is to know who you sold it to. I need a name. Tell me who bought it and I'll be gone - you'll never see me again. Lie to me and I'll know. Now, I'm going to take my hand away, and if you make a sound louder than a whisper I'll sever your windpipe. Understand?”

The terrified solicitor nodded, sweat beading on his forehead. Corvo took his hand away, pressing his sword against the loose skin of his throat hard enough that tiny drops of blood appeared against the white.  
Raymond Downs moistened his pale lips nervously and spoke, his eyes staring into Corvo’s lenses.  
“A man came to my house, someone I knew as the friend of an associate. He offered a ludicrous sum for the crusty old dagger that senile git Pendleton gave me. So I sold it to him, not realising until after he left that it was the Mortal Knife, of all things. I confronted him by letter, but he sent the letter back with the Dunwall Tower seal on it, extremely rude of course-”

“A _name_ ”, Corvo growled. The man was babbling in his fear, words spilling out of his mouth.  
The violence in his voice brought Raymond up short and he gulped, hands trembling in his lap.  
“He'll murder me if he knew I told you - very high up in Morley society. King's advisor, you know-”  
Corvo pressed his sword in just a bit harder. Raymond's face purpled slightly.  
“Tell me”, said Corvo.

And Raymond Downs did.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> finally finished the chapter, the next one will conclude the story! also if you're reading this i lov u


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